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meowzfordayz · 5 months

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saying goodbye at the train station

Author’s Note: all relationships are romantic except for Muichiro x Reader — for Muichiro’s, Reader is his older sibling. *Technically* this is not spoiler free, but the spoilers are presented non-canonically (they’re injury related).

saying goodbye at the train station

Hashira x Reader

Word Count: ~2,500

CW: death content, mild sexual content, traumatic injuries

Suggestion Fulfilled: I don't know if you're accepting asks (if you're not I'm so sorry for disturbing you 🥲) but I was wondering if you could do a modern au based on WW1 or WW2 with all the hashira enlisting as soldiers and saying goodbye to their s/o at the train station ⛽...

~faqs~

“Promise me, promise me you’ll come back. Alive.”

You whisper, clinging to his lapels, forehead smooshed into his chest

Savoring the steadiness of his heartbeat

Wishing you could keep it safe with you at home, tucked warm and certain beneath the bedsheets

“I promise, my love.”

“You always protect everyone,” you sniffle, eyes squeezing shut, “So how about you come back and protect me.”

A fierce desperation, a hopeless greed, that perhaps your smile will be enough

“Of course,” Gyomei chuckles lightly, kissing the top of your head, “Anything for you.”

“Must you board the train?”

He only nods, arms aching as he continues holding you, once more memorizing the curve of your body against his, the scent of your hair tickling his nose, the sorrow of your tears dampening his jacket

—

“You came back.”

You’re already sobbing, smile wider than it’s ever been, hands quivering as you rush toward him

“Most of me,” he murmurs sheepishly, “I’m a leg less than before.”

“You’re never less to me,” you declare firmly, “I love you.”

“I hate you for leaving me. I hate, I hate this, this stupid, senseless war.”

You’re glowering, refusing to touch him, arms crossed over your body

“I hate it too.”

He mutters, itching to hold you, loathing how your final moments together are bleeding with strife

“Then why partake?”

“Do I have a choice?”

Obanai sighs, anxiously eyeing the clock behind your head

“You can always make one,” you retort, wiping tears from your ruddy cheeks before they fall to the platform

“Dearest, let us not part on such terms.”

“Let us not part at all!” you’re shouting

“Is this really how you insist on saying goodbye?”

He’s stern, yet soft; tenderly heartbroken

“I don’t want to say it!” “Then don’t,” he gives in, pulling you into his chest in a single, greedy movement, relief filling his lungs when you grab ahold of him, “Don’t say goodbye.”

You whimper, “I love you.”

He whispers, “I love you more.”

—

“I’m never saying goodbye to you again,” you declare, awe and shock stiffening your limbs, your favorite silhouette waiting patiently on your doorstep

“And why is that?” he asks wryly, leaning heavy and tired

You’re cupping his face, delicate and careful, his skin tremoring as you brush over new scars

“If I had said goodbye, would you be here now?”

“Dearest, nothing in this world could ever stop me.”

“I’m so afraid for you.”

“For me?” she quirks a teasing eyebrow, “I can take care of myself.”

“I know, but-”

“But you like taking care of me too,” she interrupts gently, knowingly

“Mitsuri, what if-”

“What if I’m okay, you’re okay, and this is all a dream?”

“This is war,” your voice raises, “You can’t be so flippant about dy-”

“I’m not going to die.”

She sounds so certain, so steady, so-

“Mitsuri, I’m terrified.”

Your bottom lip trembles, wiping the smile off her face, strong arms wrapping sudden and tightly around you, familiar warmth only deepening the ache in your chest

“I know baby, I know,” she murmurs, grimacing to herself, “I’m so sorry.”

“You’re not going to die, right?”

You’re demanding, pleading, begging for her to-

“I promise, baby. You’re not gonna lose me.”

She promises again and again and again

As many times as she can before the train begins to whistle

—

“Don’t scold me,” she mumbles, “But I-”

“YOU DIDN’T DIE!” you scream, promptly flinging yourself toward her

“Well-” she blushes

Your eyes widen, halting on your tiptoes, narrowly avoiding bowling both of you over, “Your arms…”

“I’m-”

“ALIVE, and the love of my life,” you quickly shush her

“You aren’t-”

“Of course I’m bothered,” you reply simply, “You’ve suffered traumatic injuries.”

“Things won’t be the way they-”

“Well obviously,” you shrug, “You aren’t the way you were.”

“And that’s alright?”

“I still love you. I still want to be with you.”

“Baby… I love you.”

“Don’t get into trouble, okay? Be safe, my love. Please.”

“Why are you telling me that?” you snort, raising a bemused eyebrow, “You’re the one leaving.”

“You say that like you have so little faith in me returning,” she quips back

You fix an even stare on her lighthearted expression, shaking your head as your mouth twists

“Hey,” her tone softens, warm hand reaching out for your hip, “My love, look at me.”

Chewing on your bottom lip, you allow Shinobu to tug you into her arms, despairing at the thoughts flickering in and out of sight

“I’m a nurse, I should be safe from most of the fighting.”

“You’re one of few people who would willingly touch fighting, without a ten foot pole,” you retort

She laughs at that, a floaty, mesmerizing sound nestling into your chest, her grasp tightening around you

“How about this, my love: we both do our best to avoid trouble.”

You nod into her heartbeat, fingers clenching as the train’s whistle begins to blow, tears brimming at the reality of the silence awaiting you at home

—

“It would appear you’re as adept as ever at creating trouble,” a familiar voice chirps

Startled, you glance up across the kitchen, eyes widening in amazement

“SHINOBU!”

“I come home in one piece, and this is how you welcome me?” she asks teasingly, body hardened beneath your embrace, yet more fragile than you remember, “My love, the kitchen is, frankly, in shambles.”

“Shut up,” you mumble, “Shut up and let me cherish you.”

“Do not worry too much. I know it will be hard not to, but try. For me? Try to worry only a little.”

“You’re asking a lot of me,” you sigh quietly, eyebrows knit together as you stare into Kyojuro’s earnest gaze

“I ask because I know you are capable,” he smiles softly, thumbs rubbing warm and solid across your knuckles, his hands large and calloused as they encompass your own, “I ask because I worry about you.”

“I’m the last thing you should worry about,” you admonish gently, “I’ll be… safe.”

“And I will try my best to be as well.”

Silence weighs heavy between your hope and his reality, the distinct lack of promise tart in the air as you swallow thickly

“Write to me, okay? And I shall write to you.”

“I love you, Rengoku Kyojuro. I love you.”

“And I love you,” his voice sinks deeply, labored beneath the emotion in his throat, “This, I can always promise you.”

—

“Kyo?” you blink slowly, stunned by your unexpected visitor

“Who else could I be?” he drawls familiarly, “I guess I beat my letter home. I have been honorably discharged due to injury.”

Honorably discharged?

Due to injury?

You nearly gasp, the sight of his bandaged face finally registering, your arms thrown around him before you can even think

“I failed so terribly, Kyojuro. I worried immensely!”

He laughs loudly at your confession, dazzling grin burying itself in your shoulder, melting into your scent, your tears, the quivering of your body

“Ah, well, I suppose I failed somewhat too. I was not… entirely, safe.”

“Clearly,” you mutter, rueful and endeared, inhaling remnants of ash and winter clinging to his coat while your embrace tightens, “But you’re home.”

“You’re so silly. How could I not return to you? How could I even dare?”

“Do not call me silly when you are going to war!” you snap, fingertip pressing harder and harder into his sternum with each emphasis in your sentence

“Fine. Ridiculous.”

The urge to pinch the smugness from his face dissipates as quickly as it surfaces, promptly replaced by a fresh wave of tears as you wrap yourself once again in his arms

“Oh love,” he murmurs, all tenderness at the sudden switch of your demeanor, “I promise you, I could not dare. I will return to you.”

“As you are, or in a coffin?” you sniff petulantly, nose scrunched and dripping, “Because I shall only accept the former.”

“And the former you shall receive,” he answers resolutely, eyes closing against the rolling bile in his stomach, “I love you.”

You want to tell him The world is cruel

You want to tell him Your smile makes it less so

You want to tell him I hate you

But you can’t

Not when he already knows, and still chooses to love you

Not when you know how transparent such lies would be; brittle and self serving; temporary salve smeared over the fears trampling themselves in your head

“I love you more, Sanemi.”

“Idiot,” he says

Impossible he thinks

—

“You’re incredibly annoying,” you mutter, almost breathless as you rush toward his awaiting embrace

“I did precisely as you asked,” he chuckles, final threads of dread loosening at the feeling of your heartbeat, alive and well, pressed firmly to his chest, “Not a scratch.”

“Surely you’re lying.”

“Hm,” he hums noncommittal, smirking as he amends, “Okay, quite a few scratches. But I’m here as I am, as I promised.”

Words dissolve on your tongue, opting instead to kiss his chin, his earlobes, his cheeks, forehead, the tip of his nose, his eyelids, hesitating at his lips as you whisper

“I apologize for ever doubting you.”

He kisses you softly, tasting like the color of autumn, holding you as gently yet fiercely as a spring breeze

“I’ll come back for you. I promise.”

“I don’t believe you,” he mutters, wriggling in your hug

“Do you mean that?” you ask lightly, chin resting delicately atop his head, refusing to release him

Sighing, Muichiro hesitantly pats your back, eyes squeezing tightly

“Mui, I’ll come back for you.”

“How about you stay,” he retorts, mouth twisting, “If you leave, then you’ll-”

“Be okay. I’ll be okay.”

“What if you can’t find me?”

Your heart clenches at the drop in his tone, tears welling when he finally returns your affection, his arms angry and lonely as he clings to you

“I could find you anywhere,” you declare, “I love you.”

“What if other kids bully me?”

“Then I’ll find them too, and beat their asses,” you smirk

“That’s not very nice.”

“Well neither is bullying my younger brother.”

A gentle sob rocks into your chest, the train’s whistle cutting through wet silence, a chorus of crying children and weeping guardians growing loud in the background of your little world

“You’re coming back?”

“Of course.”

“You won’t forget me?”

“Never.”

—

“Mui?”

Someone unrecognizable yet achingly familiar turns at the sound of your voice, his limbs long and wiry, face more slim than you previously recall

“Ready to go?” you smile softly, outstretching a nervous hand toward him

From stillness to full sprint, Muichiro launches himself at you, the brightest grin matching yours as he shouts giddily

“YOU CAME BACK.”

“If I die, will you remember me?”

“You won’t die,” you scoff

“No guarantees.”

You meet Giyuu’s somber gaze with your own wry expression, his hands cool as you clutch them to your chest

“Tomioka Giyuu,” you begin sternly

“Hm?”

“Do you want to die?”

“No.”

“Then, you won’t,” you shrug, pressing warm kisses into the dryness of his knuckles

“Ever?” he asks, deadpan humor surfacing as the tension in his shoulders loosens

“You know what I mean.”

“Your faith in me is incredible,” he murmurs, tugging away from your grasp to cup your cheeks, thumbs tracing the outline of your lips with a trembling sadness, “I can only hope to repay you adequately.”

“There is nothing to repay,” you smile faintly, nuzzling into his palms, “I love you.”

“And if I die?” he whispers

“Then I will remember you fondly,” you promise softly, “With my heart, body, and being.”

—

“I suppose I didn’t want to die,” Giyuu says abruptly, snowflakes stark and glistening in his hair, nearby lamppost illuminating the relief and darkness etched into his cheekbones, “Although I did, quite obviously, lose an arm.”

“I suppose that is quite obvious,” you squeak in the doorway, eyes wide with shock, “You’re home.”

“Are you disappointed?” he questions carefully, fingers curling away from their desire to caress you

“Disappointed?!” you exclaim, “No!” head shaking profusely, “I just didn’t expect you to return so soon!!!!!”

“Well, losing an arm quickened the process.”

“Why aren’t we hugging?” you demand

“I’m wet and cold and you’re cozy and dry. Allow me to-”

He doesn’t finish his sentence, swallowed by the heat of your embrace as you fling yourself at him, tears dampening him further as you sob into his shoulder

“Tomioka Giyuu, I love you.”

“And I love you,” he finally grins, “I love you to the moon and back again.”

“Take care of each other. When one of you feels low, raise their spirits. When one of you feels angry, listen to their feelings. When one of you is in danger, come to their rescue. You are my brave spouses, my brilliant partners. I trust I shall return to all of you, whole and sound.”

“Tengen.” “Don’t leave us!”

“Must you go?”

He smiles softly, kissing Suma’s forehead, caressing Makio’s cheek, squeezing Hina’s hand

“Please, Tengen, take care of yourself.”

Nodding at your request, he slips a light finger beneath your chin, kissing you gently as he murmurs

“As you wish.”

You cling to Makio as he kisses Suma, hugging Suma as he kisses Hina, sniffling into Hina’s shoulder as he kisses Makio, lungs heaving from the smoke and bitterness hanging in the air, grateful for the haven of love wrapping itself around you

“If I perish far from home,” he says quietly, “Then do not grieve for the rest of your lives. Thrive for yourselves. Your livelihoods are more precious than mourning a single soul.”

“Tengen!” Suma wails

“How can you be so nonchalant?!” Makio cries

“Don’t ask that of us!” Hina protests

“You’re wrong, Tengen. We are precious to you, just as you are precious to us.”

Meeting the steeliness in your gaze, Tengen chuckles lowly, chest full of warmth and belonging as he shakes his head fondly

“I love you endlessly.”

“And we love you!”

“We love you too!”

“We love you infinitely!”

“We love you, Uzui Tengen. Take care.”

—

“TENGEN!!!! YOUR EYE?!?!?! YOUR HAND?! WHERE IS ITTT?!” <— Suma

“SUMA! You can’t just ask him that-” <— Makio

“Tengen?! He’s home??!!” <—You “TENGEN!!!!!” <— Suma

“I trust you all took care of each other?” <—Tengen

“HINA WOULDN’T LET ME COOK.” <— Makio

“Makio burnt dinner twice.” <— Hina

“I MISSED YOU SO MUCH!!!!!” <—Suma

“We survived.” … … … “Somehow.” <— You

“[y/n] kept us together.” <— Hina

“Barely.” <— You

“It was difficult without you.” <— Makio

“Really?” <— Tengen

“Actually. We thrived.” <— Hina

“... oh?” <— Tengen

“Especially without you and your flashy biceps. ” <— You

“Heyyy.” <— Tengen

“Group hug!!!!!” <— Suma

#hashira x reader #preferences #ww2 au #kimetsu no yaiba #demon slayer #gyomei x reader #obanai x reader #mitsuri x reader #shinobu x reader #kyojuro x reader #sanemi x reader #muichiro x reader #giyuu x reader #tengen x reader

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auroradamned · 9 months

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Until he did - Eddie Munson x fem!reader

NSFW 18+ mdni

Summary: you think you might be in love with Eddie Munson, but you are convinced he doesn’t feel the same.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, fwb to lovers, oral(f receiving), handjob, vaginal penetration, safe sex, nipple sucking, afab reader, she/her pronouns used, swearing, Robin is a sweetheart, kind of anxious reader, mentions of reader being quite lonely, shy reader, canon divergence(no mentions of monsters or canon typical violence), readers thoughts are extremely lovey-dovey, she is a simp. If I have forgotten anything, please lmk<3.

Word count: 6.8K

You pushed your hands into the dark locks atop Eddie Munson’s head, letting out a heavy exhale as he brought his plump lips to your neck, sucking and licking fervently, fingers leaving a bruising grip on your waist.

‘You wanna take this off f’me sweetheart?’ Eddie asked, a little breathless, fiddling with the hem of your shirt.

You nodded quickly, lifting your arms above your head, letting him pull it off you in one swift, skilled motion.

He breathed out through his nose, eyes scouring your nakedness, seemingly memorising every inch of you. It made you nervous.

‘I will never get enough of this,’ he teased, tone husky.

Goosebumps pimpled your body as he looked at you. He always made you feel so beautiful.

‘Eddie,’ you say his name with a whine, desperate for his hands to be on you again.

‘Yes, sweetheart?’ he cooed.

‘Please,’ you breathed. ‘Please…touch me’

He had an undeniable ability to make you beg, if it was anyone else you would get flustered at the thought, but Eddie made you different, more confident, alive.

His pink tongue poked out his pretty mouth ever-so-slightly, eyes on yours as he lay his hands on your bare skin, big palms cupping the expanse of your breast, his ring catching your pebbled nipple, you let out a soft gasp, heat rushing to your centre.

His delicate brown eyes swam with stars as he listened to your nosies, mouth up-turned in delight.

You wished he would look at you like that forever, like you were the only one. You wished he felt the same, you hoped, prayed, dreamed more than anything that you could be his, you wanted to give yourself to him in ways that were more than just sexual.

He didn’t.

You knew that. You had always known that. He had been open and honest from the beginning of your endeavours. You had agreed, because you wanted him, needed him. To feel his skin on yours was a sacred experience for you, and you knew without a shadow of doubt you could devote yourself to him, heart and soul, if he only asked.

He didn’t.

He won’t. You aren’t the only person Eddie Munson was having sex with. Again, you knew that, having known the truth from the start, because he told you, of course he did, first and foremost Eddie was an honest and respectful man who would never do anything to make you uncomfortable.

He made it so easy to fall for him. Too easy.

You told yourself it was fine, and that you were fine, but it had been a month of this, and you were getting weak. You could feel it, cracks appearing in your interior, as you withered away, mind splintering.

Perhaps you're dramatic, but it's difficult not to be around Eddie goddamn Munson. Every time you looked at him was exactly like the first, as if there wasn't enough air left in the world to make your lungs work again. Your eyes burned and your heart ached with the kind of gnawing, stabbing pain that made you want to rip it out. And yet you stayed.

His wet mouth took your hard nipple into its grasp, nibbling gently. Your hands flew to his strong shoulders, taking a shuddering gasp of air.

Eddie moved his head over, continuing his attack of your silky skin, sloppily running his mouth over you. Your insides quivered, as you gasped, rubbing your thighs together to try and create a little friction on your beating clit.

If you were acting like this with any other man, you would feel ridiculous, filthy. However with him, with Eddie, you could never bring yourself to care, he never missed an opportunity to tell you, or show you, how attractive he found you.

He noticed your squirming, and you felt him smirk into your neck, bringing his face up to meet your eyes, his eyes glinting mischievously. You pushed your hands under his faded Judas Priest ‘Defenders of the Faith’ t-shirt, wanting to feel his skin.

You ran your nails over his hips, revelling in the feeling of his cushiony skin. He sighed, closing his eyes, as he let you touch him.

You just stared at his face, tracing the shape of him with your eyes, memorising every tiny detail. The way his eyelashes kissed his flushed cheeks. The shape of his nose, the dusting of freckles across it, summer having brought them out of hibernation. His full lips, with a tiny smile on them, just begging to be kissed.

You restrained yourself, that wasn’t what you guys did, no matter how much your heart screamed for it. Although, in soft moments like this, you didn't think he would stop you if you pressed your mouth to his, and showed him.

Perhaps this would be the only way to tell him. The kiss, a whisper of a thousand feelings that held you hostage every minute of every day. A kiss from him would solve everything.

He ran his rough hands down your sides again, wrapping the string of your cotton shorts around one slender finger.

‘Is this okay?’ he asked, as he always does, pulling the tie undone.

You nod, eager, skin prickling with how hot you felt. Maybe it was the summer heat in the stuffy little trailer, air conditioning having stopped working months ago, Wayne being too busy to fix it, Eddie not knowing how. Maybe it was Eddie, (it was definitely Eddie).

‘Use your words please sweetheart’

‘Yes, s’okay.’ you say, voice thick with desire ‘Do whatever you want.’

‘Dangerous game to play with me, babe.’ he says, voice low.

As if he could ever scare you, those scintillating, doe eyes that wouldn't scare a newborn, and the way he positively dazzled everytime he smiled.

‘If you call anything you do dangerous again, I will laugh in your face.’ you warned, humour lacing your tone.

‘Haven’t you heard m’the freak?’ he asked, placing contusing kisses along your collarbone.

‘I think they call you that for a whole ‘nother reason now’

He laughed heartily at your comment, flashing his pearls, head thrown back. It was thrilling to watch, your tummy coiled as you listened to the sound, your heart bubbling at the fact that you were the one who got him to laugh like this. You couldn’t help but smile as you looked at him.

‘You’d know all about that, wouldn’t you?’ he queried, tone light and teasing.

You made a noise of agreement as he sank to his knees, pulling your shorts and underwear with him, painfully slow. You wiggled with impatience. His eyes darkened as you were revealed to him, he licked his lips. Looking back to your face he pressed a gentle kiss just below your navel. Your breath faltered, begging him internally to continue his journey downward.

He continued, licking a stripe up your hip bone. You shivered.

‘Wanna lie down baby?’ he asked, standing up to full height once again.

You complied, hastily, stepping fully out of your shorts, making your way over to his messily made bed. His eyes on you were unnerving, his stare intense and unrelenting, it made you shiver as you sat down. You felt exposed.

‘You’re still dressed.’ you stated, eyes wide and desperate, as dark boots stalked towards you.

He chuckled a little before lifting the shirt over his head, throwing it to some far corner of the room.

You drank in the sight of him, his pale skin, although beautiful, was in serious need of some vitamin D. You ran your eyes along the length of his long arms, from his shoulder to the tips of his ringed fingers, moving to his slim waist, before travelling to the dark hair that trailed down his soft tummy disappearing into his tight jeans.

He clicked his fingers in front of your face, ‘My eyes are up here, sweetheart.’ he said, flippantly, shaking his head in mock disgust.

You rolled your eyes, ‘I’ll remind you of that next time you wanna see my tits.’ you replied jovially, crossing your arms over your naked chest.

He bent at the waist, looking down at your face, hands either side of your bare thighs. He was so close to you.

‘No, no, please don’t take them away.’ he begged, an exaggerated pout on his splendid mouth. ‘You can look all you want, pretty girl.’

Your heart gushed at the nickname like a fizzing candy. Sweet and delicious and sickening. You wished he had some sort of idea.

He didn’t.

You smiled. ‘I should think so.’

He chuckled. ‘Lie down.’

You did as you were told, pushing your hands into the sheets in preparation as he lay flat on his stomach.

Gently pulling your legs apart, he devoured the sight of you, eyes on your cunt, wet and wanting.

‘This all for me?’ he asked, gathering your slick on his thick index finger, pushing it into your hot entrance.

‘All for you.’ you whispered, watching him with greedy determination. You hoped he saw the meaning behind your words.

He didn’t.

Eddie pressed his tongue to your weeping hole, dragging it upward to your needy clit, groaning at the taste of you. You sighed at the vibrations, heels lifting off the bed.

He did it again, drawing the hot muscle along the length of your slit teasingly, watching you. Your pretty face pulled into an expression of elated pleasure, mouth agape in a slight ‘O’.

He took your hot little clit between his lips and sucked, the added pressure making you writhe, your stomach pulsating.

He let go with a soft pop. ‘Feel good, baby?’ he asked, although he already knew the answer.

‘Uh-huh, yes, Eddie,’ you replied, chest heaving. ‘Mmm…so good.’ your voice excitable and whiny

He took your clit back into his mouth, rubbing a delicate circle with two fingers at your twinging hole.

Dipping his two fingers in, running them along the spongy walls, searching for your sweet spot.

Your hips convulsed, letting out a loud whimper as his fingers curled up into you, brushing your g-spot with every movement. With his free arm, he pushed your hips back down to the mattress, keeping you steady.

Your vision was becoming bleary, and you were finding it too difficult to hold your head up, deciding to let it loll back onto his pillows instead, revelling in the build of your orgasm.

He pushed his tongue to make a point, circling your clit with the tip of it, as he continued driving an onslaught of pleasure into your sensitive cunt.

Your orgasm took over hard and fast, not even giving you a chance to warn him as your fingers gripped his hair, perhaps a little too hard, wrapping your thighs around his head so hard you were sure he couldn’t hear a thing. You let out a cry of ecstasy as pleasure washed over you, white hot, and overpowering.

He continued lapping at your sensitive bud until you gently pushed his head away, attempting to gain control of your breathing.

‘That was incredible, handsome,’ you declared, eyes blown, still breathless.

He ran his hands up your thighs, giving soft squeezes, pulling himself above you. ‘What can I say,’ he mused. ‘I’m a talented man.’

‘Right now, I’m not sure how I’d disagree.’

Wrapping your arms around his neck, you kissed the column of his throat, basking in his smell - like oak after rain, and something a little sweet, with an underlying hint of weed. Intricately and perfectly him.

He sat back on his haunches, and you reached over, undoing his belt and jeans. You could feel him, hard, almost throbbing as you pulled out his heavy cock, the weight and size it possessed would never fail to surprise you. A little precum leaked onto your hand, which you brought to your mouth and licked off, watching his expression morph into one of astonishment from lidded eyes.

He let out a groan, emanating deep from within his chest. ‘Whaddya tryna do to me?’ he implored.

‘Seduce you.’

‘Ahh’ he snickered. ‘Seduce.’

‘Is it working?’ you asked, seeking approval.

‘Course it is.’ he uttered, his voice so soft you could cry.

You felt the sudden and hopeless need for his touch again, outstretching your hand toward him. He obliged, linking your fingers together, a smile ghosting his lips, as he glanced at your entwined hands.

You blinked at him, captivated, shuffling ever closer to him. Your knees kissed. Taking your other hand, you wrapped it around the base of his shaft, thick with neat curls of dark hair.

Moving your hand over his length, teasing and slow, licking your lips in anticipation.

Eddie hissed, his head falling backwards, locks of his hair sweeping from his shoulder, behind his head, ‘Not gonna last long if you keep doin’ that, sweetheart.’ he confessed, eyes closed.

You giggled softly, ‘Come do something about it then.’

That snapped him into action, hands grasping the flesh of your waist, lowering you to lie on your back. He sat back again, admiring the sight in front of him, you, aglow with lust, a smile gracing your face.

He stripped the rest of his clothes, all slow and pretty-like, as you watched him, eyes glassy.

He reached over to his bedside table, grabbing a foil-wrapped condom, ripping it open with his teeth, making searing eye contact with you as he slipped in over his beating cock, tip still leaking.

You mewled as he ran his head through the folds of your hot cunt, spreading your release and his saliva.

‘You want this?’ he asked lowly, directly above you, using his free arm to brace himself next to your head.

‘Don’t tease, Eddie.’ you begged, needy to be filled.

‘You make it so easy though.’

You bucked your hips, trying to get anything you could from him.

‘Tell me you want this.’ he spoke again, the same low and sultry tone.

‘Fuck. Yes,’ you whimpered. ‘I want it, I need it.’

‘Good girl.’

He entered you slowly, inch by inch, teasing, splitting your ravenous hole open for him. You choked on a moan, watching him disappear into you, pressing your lips together in a tight line.

‘Lemme hear those pretty sounds babe.’

You opened your mouth as he bottomed out, a squeak escaping your throat. He stilled, letting you get used to the mouth-watering stretch.

‘Please move, Eddie. Please please.’

He pulled out and slammed in again, balls slapping wetly against your ass. As he clutched your hips, leaving a deliciously stinging pain, he did it again, pulling out and in, out and in, an unbelievable force that made your tits bounce and your head reel. A moan ripping from you everytime.

‘Pretty fuckin’ pussy baby,’ he groaned. ‘So fuckin’ needy.’

You clenched down on him at the praise, toes curling.

He began to go faster, keeping one hand on your hip, the other using your bent knee to keep him steady, bumping it to your chest.

‘Fuck, fuck, Eddie, yes!’ you babbled uselessly, as he continued his ceaseless fucking.

He was making almost as much noise as you now, strokes becoming sloppy as he began to reach his peak. Eddie forced his hand between your sweaty bodies, rubbing your messy clit.

‘Need ya to cum again, can you do that? Cum f’me again, baby?’ he asked, quick and breathless.

You nodded just as fast, wrapping your hand around his tensed bicep. He rubbed quicker, as the heat in your tummy built again.

Your moans were lewd, nearly pornographic, a string of curses leaving your lips in a whisper.

‘You’re so good, such a good girl, so pretty.’ Eddie praised. ‘You can do it.’

You clenched again letting out a sob. Your eyes filled with tears, your back arching as you came, Eddie thrusting into you one last time, moaning at his own release.

Collapsing his head into your shoulder, both of you trying to catch your breath, you lazily ran your nails up his back.

You sighed at the intimacy of it all, the sex, the two of you lying together after it all, naked and glowing, words not needing to be spoken just yet. You willed him to tell you how he felt the same.

He didn’t.

He shifted from your neck, sitting back and kneading the softness of your tummy, pulling out gently, both of you hissing at the sensation, too sensitive for any movement.

Tying off the condom, and throwing it into the bin next to his bed, flopping down beside you. ‘Woah,’ he breathed. ‘That was goddamn mind-blowing.’

You laughed, nodding in agreement. ‘You sound surprised. We’re always good.’

‘Mhm, I know, but, I mean that was next level.’ He was wide eyed and flushed, so fucking pretty.

You understood what he meant, while the sex was always great, always passionate, tonight, it was different, more powerful. It was dizzying.

Suddenly, he turned, sat up on his elbow and put his palm out flat in front of you, close to your face.

You looked cross eyed at it, and then at his face. ‘What?’

‘High five.’ he demanded, deadly serious.

You snorted, gawping at him. ‘I’m not gonna high five you after we’ve had sex.’ you told him, still laughing.

‘High five me, woman. The way we just fucked deserves something.’ he smiled.

Rolling your eyes, you gave him a high five, grinning as you did so.

‘That was pathetic.’

‘You’re ridiculous, Munson.’

He cackled. ‘Perhaps.’

You groaned, popping your neck before continuing pushing the squeaky cart through the cool grocery store. Relishing the feeling of the air conditioning being pumped through the aisle, a serene relief from the blistering heat outside.

List crinkling in your palm as you tried to find the best net of tangerines, summertime drawing out a craving for them.

The sound of ‘Crimson & Clover’ by Tommy James and the Shondells played through the foam orange of your headphones, shutting out the buzz of the store, allowing you freedom to ponder.

A hand waved in front of your face, interrupting your mulling. ‘Hey.’

You stepped back a little in shock, looking at the offender.

Eddie.

‘Eddie.’ you breathed, taking off your headphones. ‘Hi!’

‘Hey.’ he grinned. ‘Didn’t mean to scare ya, but I said your name like three times.’

‘Sorry,’ you said sheepishly, gesturing to your headphones. ‘Music.’

‘No worries,’ he shrugged. ‘What’re you listening to?.’

You swallowed, feeling put on the spot, wishing your Walkman was playing something that was more him.

Biting the inside of your cheek, you pushed the headphones over his ears, gently moving his hair away from his face.

He listened for a few seconds, looking serious.

‘What’s this called?’ he asked, almost yelling.

You smiled, gesturing for him to remove the headphones.

‘Was I loud?’

‘A little.’ you said, still smiling at him.

‘My bad.’ he shrugged, not looking guilty at all. ‘But what was the song?’

You told him.

‘Hmmm.’ he mused. ‘Interesting, very interesting indeed.’

‘I thought you didn’t like those kinds of songs.’ you remarked.

‘I’m willing to keep an open mind for people I like.’

His words roared in your ears. He was so lovely. So lovely in the most horrid way, the worst way, because it wasn’t even on purpose, he was just like that. Your face was buzzing, so hot you might just combust here and now.

‘You can totally borrow this one.’ you began amicably. ‘If you wanna listen to the whole thing. There’s a whole lot more of ‘em on that too, if ya end up liking the first one.’

‘You sure?’ he questioned. ‘Wouldn’t wanna ruin your groove.’

You gave an exaggerated nod. ‘Totally.’

‘Sick, thanks Y/N.’

Removing the tape from the Walkman with shaking fingers, and holding it out to him. He took it carefully, thumb brushing against yours, placing it in the breast pocket of his denim vest, patting it twice.

‘You know, my friend is having a party tomorrow.’ Eddie began, handing your headphones back. ‘I’d love it if you came.’

You were floored. You were elated. You were nervous.

‘A party?’ you asked, pensively.

You hadn’t been particularly popular in high school, not to say you were bullied, more like people seemed to forget your existence, too quiet to be notable. So parties weren't an area you had a lot of experience in, unless your cousin's sweet sixteenth counted, where you’d spent the evening in a too tight turquoise dress, sporting a big bow on the back of it, a matching one in your hair. You had nursed a lukewarm glass of too sweet a punch the entire time, listening to your uncle tell you exactly how he believed ‘girls your age’ should behave. Safe to say your views didn’t align.

You decided it didn't count.

‘Nothing crazy, scouts honour.’ he assured you, hand placed to the right of his chest.

‘Your heart is more to the other side.’ you informed him.

‘Nerd.’ he jested, gazing at you through dark lashes.

‘You come up with that by yourself?’ you asked, sardonically.

‘As a matter of fact, I did.’ He laughed at his own joke, his laugh was thick, sweet. It was serene. He was alive and beautiful. It made you feel exhilarated.

He became nervous suddenly, quieter, making his fingers walk along a crate of crisp looking apples. ‘So, will you come?’ he swallowed, hard.

You don't think you could ever deny him.

‘Sounds fun, I’ll be there.’

He grinned, suddenly, as if he couldn’t stop himself. A beaming smile that pierced your heart gold, and set it alight. He was insatiable.

‘Awesome, great, I'll pick you up at two.’

You set your spine straight.

‘Oh-I, Eddie you don’t have to do that, I can find my own way there.’ you breathed, desperate to sound casual.

You yearned for him to take you, but you refused to be a burden.

‘Nonsense, we’re goin’ together.’

Together. How long you had longed to hear those words from him. You wanted him to tell you that he wanted to use that word from this day forward, because he wanted to be yours.

He didn’t

‘I don’t wanna put you out.’ you grumbled.

‘I invited you, didn’t I?’ he asked, not waiting for a response. ‘So we go together, I swear I’m fun.’

You stayed silent, deliberating. He had invited you. He must be okay with it.

‘I’ll even let you choose the music.’ he bargained in a sing-songy voice, as if that was what was stopping you.

‘If you’re sure.’

He nodded, earnestly, wide set eyes gleaming.

You conceded, ‘Okay, thank you Eddie.’

‘Two pm sharp, Y/N. I do not tolerate lateness.’ he cautioned, mouth set stern.

‘I won’t be late. Scouts honour.’ you repeated, hand at the left of your chest.

‘Nerd.’ he said, turning and heading towards the exits.

He hadn’t even bought anything.

‘By the way,’ he called over his shoulder, ‘my friend has a pool.’ shooting you a mischievous wink.

Your mouth fell open, you felt your neck heat up, skin prickling.

You left the store in a rush. You forgot your tangerines.

You pulled at a loose thread on your dress. It was a sweet summer yellow, like honey, with a flowing skirt that grazed your knees, chinching a little at the waist, before puffing out at the short sleeves, allowing the sun to kiss your skin. You had paired it with your favourite white Mary Janes, and frilly socks of the same colour, your bathing suit hidden underneath.

You glared at the astray thread before glancing at the clock in your hall. 2.07pm.

So much for not wanting to be late you thought, huffily.

Your face was pulled into a harsh scowl, possibilities swirling in your head on why he wasn’t here.

Perhaps he was lying about inviting you, him and all his friends now sitting at the pool, laughing at how gullible you are, and how excited you looked.

Or perhaps he’s completely forgotten you, and now he’s splashing away without a care in the world while you sit there and wallow.

But neither of those sounded like Eddie, he had never once made you feel like he was using you, or that he thought you were some joke. You don't think he's capable.

As the clock hit 2.09pm you heard his rickety van roar up the street, before coming to a harsh, screeching stop outside your door.

You shot up, gave yourself a once over in the mirror, and grabbed your bag. You weren’t sure what kind of party this was going to be, so you packed a variety of snacks, as well as a large glass bottle of homemade cloudy peach lemonade, a recipe you were extremely proud of. You were unsure if it was weird to bring lemonade to a party, but if it didn’t fit the vibe you would just keep it hidden.

You yanked open the door, and came face to face with a worried looking Eddie.

‘Sweetheart, I am so, so sorry I’m late.’ he practically panted apologetically, eyebrows upturned, eyes pleading.

You shook your head with a smile, ‘No worries, Eddie.’ you lied. ‘You don’t have to apologise’

‘No, I do, I’m sorry Y/N, truly.’ he spoke solemnly, ‘It’s my friend, he’s got no common decency whatsoever, kinda wish I’d left him to walk.’

You giggled, ‘Eddie, seriously, it’s fine.’

‘Stop being so forgiving.’ he scolded, ‘Now chop, chop, I got some party games to lose.’ clapping his hands.

He pushed his fingers under the strap of your bag you had slung over one shoulder, dragging it down your bare arm, knuckle brushing naked skin. You held your breath as this finger trailed over the pulse point on your wrist. It felt like he was moving in slow motion, drawing a line of heat on your skin. You barely contained a shiver as his trail ended and he threw the bag over his own shoulder.

‘I know, I know, you’re thinking “Wow, Eddie Munson is such a gentleman” right?’ he asked, twirling his hair round one figure in what you believed was meant to be an impression of you.

‘You’d be correct, you know.’ he continued, voice dropping lower, bending to get closer to your ear, ‘I am a gentleman, sweetheart.’ his minty breath crowded your senses, always with a hint of cigarettes. You used to detest it, now you couldn’t get enough.

You swallowed, and turned to him, faces much closer together than normal, due to his bent stature. ‘We both know that isn’t true.’ you said, hushed, a surge of confidence igniting in you. You smirked, looking at him through your lashes.

You were mere inches apart, staring at each other. You wet your dry lips. His eyes flitted to them, before he was back making eye contact with you.

You opened your mouth to speak when -

Bang!

You separated from Eddie in shock, and turned to whatever creature was making the noise.

A young, curly-haired boy stood, with fury on his face and one of his socks falling down. He had whacked the side of the beaten up van with his fist.

‘Eddie, let’s go.’ he bellowed with a lisp.

‘Can it Henderson.’ Eddie replied, not as loud, ‘You can walk if you’re in such a hurry.’

‘You guys can be gross at Steve’s, but please move your asses.’ gesturing for us to come hither.

‘Your odd little friend is right, we are late.’ you said, turning back to Eddie, who was now at a friendly distance, standing full height.

‘I know, but if I go now, it’ll look like I’m doing it ‘cos he told me to.’ he complained, ‘Can’t be fueling his ego anymore, his hat won’t fit.’ he said it scornfully, but he was smiling.

‘Eddie.’ the boy hissed.

‘Alright, alright man, we’re coming, jeez.’

‘Thank you.’ he sighed, throwing his arms up in exasperation.

You laughed at his actions, as he placed himself directly in front of you.

‘Dustin Henderson, at your service.’ he introduced, giving your hand a firm shake.

Eddie had mentioned him before, once or twice, a key member to his Hellfire Club, and ‘a little piece of shit’ as he had so kindly put it, although he had followed it up with ‘and one of my favourite people’.

‘Hi Dustin,’ you grinned, ‘I’m-’

‘I know exactly who you are.’ his smile was sly, and his eyes twinkled, he looked between you and Eddie, who was leaning casually against the side of the van, you weren’t quite sure what he meant.

‘Stop making her feel weird man, let’s go.’

‘I call shotgun!’ Dustin yelled, breaking out in a run towards the passengers side.

Eddie moved quickly, stepping in front of an excitable Dustin, staring him down, not unkindly.

‘This is not how we treat guests, Henderson.’ he reprimanded, smirking.

Dustin groaned in response, loudly, and dramatically, curls bouncing as his head fell back.

‘I don’t mind sitting in the ba-’

Eddie put his index finger on your lips. ‘Silence Y/N, you are getting in the front.’

You felt compelled to bite his finger. You controlled yourself.

‘Fine, you and your girlfriend can sit in the front. I’ll cover my ears if you start to make out.’ he snorted, stomping away.

Your face tingled, you glanced at Eddie in your peripheral and took note of his slightly tinted pink cheeks.

You wanted to laugh at the comment, or give some witty remark, but you were stuck, stuck without words, stuck with this boy who you couldn’t help but love. At that moment the world felt cruel, and you were stuck.

Everything moved again as Eddie spoke.

‘You’re lucky I don’t lock you in the back, Henderson.’ he said, although his voice shook a little, a strange kind of nervousness.

‘Oh yeah? Real nice, Eddie.’ Dustin shouted, swinging the doors of the van open.

The drive to the party was tenser than you expected, partly your fault, as you could barely glance at Eddie without internally begging the ground to swallow you whole.

The First Cut is the Deepest by Cat Stevens played gently through the crackling stereo, because Eddie Munson, true to his word, had let you choose the music, even though you were sure he couldn’t stand this song.

You hummed to yourself softly, watching as the trees whooshed past in a lush, green blur. You had rolled the window down halfway, letting the breeze surround your senses in a mind-reeling array of summer scents - fresh-cut grass, asters and suntan lotion paired perfectly with the smell of the boy next to you.

‘I really like your dress.’ Eddie breathed from next to you.

You felt giddy, and your face showed it, smiling animatedly, suppressing a squeal. ‘Yeah? I didn’t know what to wear.’

He glanced at you, before turning his eyes back to the road. ‘You chose well. You look beautiful Y/N.’

Beautiful.

Your body was on fire, bursting, blooming, beaming with the light of a million stars.

Beautiful.

How lovely he was.

‘Thank you Eddie.’ you said quietly, with full sincerity.

‘I just tell it how it is.’

The term ‘party’, was a loose description of the situation. It felt more like a family gathering, and you were the out-of-state cousin that no one knew.

Steve, who found out was none other than Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington (when you called him that to Eddie, he had thrown his head back like it was the funniest thing you ever said) had a massive back yard. Neatly cut grass covered the lawn, where pretty beds of flowers sat all in bloom, buzzing with life. Right in the centre was the pool, surrounded by white tiles that you couldn’t step on without shoes due to the sun burning so bright. The pool was a clear blue, and smelled like chlorine. Deck chairs sat either side of the pool, and a boy you knew to be Jonathan Byers stood off to the left, grilling some mouth-watering looking burgers.

There were more children than you were expecting, yelling, splashing and running excitedly, their faces shiny from sweat and sunscreen. You recognised a few of them; a tall, spindly, dark-haired boy you realised was Mike Wheeler, the younger brother of Nancy, who had been a year below at school, he stood next to Will Byers, smaller, paler, sporting an unfortunate bowl cut. With his feet dipped in the pool was Lucas Sinclair, bright-eyed, dark skin glowing, smiling at a freckled, ginger-haired girl who was listening intently to whatever he was saying.

In the pool with Nancy was another young girl you didn’t know, slightly frizzy, dark hair with a home-cut fringe across her forehead. It looked like Nancy was teaching her to swim.

You took a heavy breath, feeling nervous, looking for Eddie. You saw him, talking to Steve and a tall, short-haired girl. He caught your eye and beckoned you over, you went, anxiety bubbling in your chest, you really wanted these people to like you, they meant a lot to Eddie, and he meant a lot to you.

‘Y/N, this is Steve and Robin, dear, dear friends of mine.’ Eddie introduced sarcastically, placing his hand over his heart (in the correct place this time).

‘Guys, this is the girl I was telling you about.’ he continued, less sarcastic now, smiling down at you.

Your heart stopped as you focus your gaze on him. He had told people about you?

He continued smiling down at you. You could feel it, the difference in the way he was looking at you. You knew it was different. It was the way you looked at him, like there was no one else in the world. Your eyes got hot.

It felt like you stood like that for hours, in reality it was mere seconds before you got the overwhelming feeling that someone was watching you, and you felt as if they were talking about you, some private joke, a way to laugh at you.

You glanced at Robin and Steve, preparing yourself for scornful or disgusted looks, however they were just staring, slight smiles.

‘Welcome to the land of outcasts.’ began Robin, a delightful rasp to her voice. ‘Glad you could join us.’

‘We are not outcasts.’ reproached Steve, scowling. ‘I’m here, that makes us cool.’

‘Steve you stopped being cool a solid 5 years ago.’ Robin told him, rolling her eyes at you.

You laughed quietly, trying to gauge Steve’s reaction to the insult. He smiled good-naturedly.

‘Harsh. And lying. Lying is sinful, shame on you Buckley.’

This isn’t how you remembered Steve Harrington, King Steve. The Steve you remembered was arrogant, selfish, crass and all round not a great person, but the years away from school seemed to have changed him for the better, and you could understand why Eddie hung out with him.

They all began chattering about school days, laughing at how long it took Eddie to graduate, how Robin was in band, how Steve truly believed he was God’s gift, and how glad they were to be friends now. The love was radiating in waves, almost scorching you.

You felt a sudden longing feeling, it caught in your throat as you smiled and watched them. You felt lonely. Why didn’t you have this? Could you have this? Would they want you here? Would Eddie?

Lost in your ever-moving thoughts, you didn’t notice a certain tall almost 19 year old sidle up to you with a curious smile lightning up soft, freckled face.

‘You know, you’re staring.’ she teased, nose wrinkling at your aghast expression.

‘I-I’m not staring,’ you scoffed. ‘Simply gawking…subtly.’

‘Those are synonyms, meaning you admit you are staring.’

You narrowed your eyes at her. ‘Are you making fun of me?’

‘Oh definitely.’ she confirmed. ‘Only ‘cos I desperately want us to be friends.’

You gawped at her, visibly taken aback by her outright statement. You couldn’t remember the last time someone was so downright, openly, demandingly honest with you, specifically about wanting to be your friend.

‘I want to be friends with you.’ you told her, less confident, more wobbly sounding, but it seemed to please her immensely.

She beamed, the apples of her pretty cheeks nearly bursting from her wide smile, you copied her, feeling eyes burning into the back of your skull. ‘Okay then, we’re officially friends.’

You felt a sort of giddiness you hadn’t felt in a while. The kind you only get from girl friendships, where your chest is warm, your soul is full and you want to tell her all your secrets. You were almost star-struck, the beautiful, life-filled girl wants to be your friend.

The two of you sat on the deckchairs, admiring your surroundings, chatted, well, more like Robin chatted, and you listened in wonder at the mirage of thoughts that seemed in a constant stream in her head. She was funny, and endearing, and nerdy in the best way.

It wasn’t long before Jonathon was calling for everyone to come eat. You wandered to the grill shyly, behind everyone else, not wanting to seem pushy, although the burgers looked mouth-watering, placed between doughy buns, with fresh lettuce, melty cheese, and enough fried onions to feed fifty.

Eddie slinked over to you, grinning from ear to ear.

‘I see you’ve made a friend.’ he stated, eyes on you.

‘I don’t remember the last time I made a girlfriend,’ you admitted softly, ‘Or any friend for that matter.’

‘You know, I don’t get that, you’re like my favourite person to be around.’

‘I am?’ you asked, the disbelief obvious on your face.

He nodded. ‘You kidding? How could you not be?’ he wasn’t looking at you now, instead at the rest of the party, his face looking incredibly pretty and kissable.

You looked away from him, you couldn't cope with the emotions swirling in you. Frozen in place, with the boy you wanted to be with, warmth from the evening sun giving you a gentle hug as laughter surrounded your senses.

You sucked in a breath as Eddie’s eyes fell on you once again.

‘Eddie,’ you began, in barely a whisper.

‘You wanna go for a walk with me, Y/N?’ he interrupted, eyes bright and hopeful.

You nodded, not trusting your voice.

His big hand reached for yours, wrapping round your fingers perfectly, moulding as one.

Steve Harrington’s street was quiet, the wind brushed the bushes and trees, but not a person was in sight, it was sort of perfect.

Looking at Eddie under the streetlights made your body numb with excitement as the two of you walked hand in hand in harmonious silence, it felt right, comfortable.

‘I have a confession.’ Eddie mumbled, so softly, that if you weren’t standing right next to him you might not have caught it.

He stopped walking, taking hold of your other hand. He looked like he was about to ask you to dance.

He didn’t. Of course.

‘I have a…confession,’ he repeated, louder this time.

You giggled, erratically, a little unnerved by his intense stare, ‘I’m listening.’

He huffed a breath of air, his small smile seeming nervous.

‘I have been the most ridiculous man.’

‘Well, I could’ve told you that, no need to walk me to the street for that.’ you joked.

He laughed, not big, the way he normally did, but a softer kind that made your thighs clench a little. His eyes shining, pupils so large you could barely see his irises.

‘What made you come to this conclusion then?’ you asked.

‘I am the most ridiculous man on planet earth, because,’ he paused, taking in a lungful of air. ‘Because I haven’t been honest with you, Y/N.’

‘Oh.’

You thought it might be quiet enough for him to hear your crazed heartbeat. You certainly could, the rush of blood in your ears.

‘I want to kiss you.’ he whispered, squeezing your fingers, as if he was trying to learn their shape.

‘You do?’ you asked, your voice equally as soft.

He nodded aggressively, his curls bouncing. ‘Desperately. Like, it’s all I can think about. You’re all I can think about, day and night, I think of you, of how beautiful you are, abo-about how much I want to be with you. You have completely consumed my mind, Y/N, without even meaning to.’

His shoulders sunk, like he felt all the tension in his back leave.

You were stunned, unable to move, unable to speak. Tears welled up in your eyes and you willed them not to fall.

‘Y/N?’ he wiggled your hands, ‘It’s okay if you don’t feel the same, I just couldn’t stand another minute without you knowing how I feel.’

‘I-I-Eddie,’ you croaked, ‘You have no idea how long I have been begging for you to feel the way I do.’

‘You mean it?’

‘Kiss me, Eddie, please.’

He did.

A/N: halllloo, so this took me a annoyingly long time to write, I kept forgetting, also work is incredibly busy. pls like/reblog if you enjoyed. thank you for reading, ilyyy:3

#eddie munson #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x female reader #stranger things fanfic #stranger things x reader #stranger things smut

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purpleqilinwrites · 6 months

Text

yours, hers.

a/n: thoughts of ganyu, being half-adeptus and half-mortal, wanting to partake in the mortal custom of marriage with a fully adeptus reader who is also her lover has me in a chokehold! i am completely and utterly obsessed!!!

fandom: genshin impact

character: ganyu

genre: fluff

info: established relationship (you and ganyu are lovers); reader is an adeptus who fought in the archon war; this takes place pre-canon timeline

warnings: might not be canon-compliant; mentions of alcohol (both ganyu and reader are drinking)

synopsis: the humans created marriage to celebrate promises, and ganyu would like to make a promise to you.

word count: 1.4k

fluff-vember prompt: accidental proposal

part of the "yearning has hold of me" series.

fluff-vember 2023 masterlist is here.

Ganyu

There was a clink of porcelain against metal, dulled by the clear wine that filled the serving vessel. Ganyu tilted her head that was snug against her folded arms, and looked up at you from beneath the brush of her hair that partially hid you from her sight. You were stretched out with your back against a prominent root of the golden knotwood tree behind you, dappled light from the evening sun glowing about you and highlighting your beauty.

"All this sighing, and not once have you touched the wine," you said, playful, as you pointed to the eared wine cup sitting to her left, still clean and still empty. Ganyu could not help it when another sigh escaped her.

You raised your own freshly refilled cup in her direction, mouthing a "cheers" before you downed it all in one gulp. There was an easy smile on your face, and she felt warm from beholding you despite being completely and unfortunately sober.

She wanted her head to be as clear as possible about what she would like to suggest.

Ganyu lifted her head and her arms off the lacquered surface of the folding table, and she straightened her posture so that she was sitting upright with her hands to herself. The curiosity flickering in your eyes was the only indication she had that you noticed the new rigidity in your drinking companion. She wiggled her fingers in her lap as you poured some wine into her cup and then gestured for her to drink.

Perhaps one cup would be what she needed.

"I will drink it, if you would prefer not to imbibe," you said, smiling as you stirred the wine in the serving vessel and helped yourself to yet another portion.

Ganyu reached out for the plate of dried persimmons and put two slices in her mouth, rushing through the chewing and then the swallowing. She clenched and released her other hand, the one that was not sticky with the residue of fruit, and then clenched and released it once more in quick succession.

You remained unmindful of the avalanche contained in her as you sipped leisurely at your wine in between delicate bites of dried persimmon.

The wine was bittersweet on her tongue and exceedingly smooth in her throat. She found herself reaching for another cupful as she considered the body of the wine and the flavours that lingered with it. It had a mild sweetness like melons which was pleasantly balanced with a healthy dose of bitterness.

Between the two of you, you were not the one for nitpicking when it came to alcohol; she was far more picky about her alcohol than you were. Despite this, she trusted in your judgment of taste, which was why she was not surprised when she found the wine you brought out for her tasty. Ganyu was already lifting her third cup to her nose for a long inhale before she decided to slow down with a few slices of dried persimmon.

She placed her cup down on the table, empty once again but warmed up from the heat of the wine.

The sky was beginning to darken into night when she looked out at the same faraway place your eyes were fixed on, somewhere along the line of the sea that wove it together with the sky. "I was invited to attend another wedding tomorrow," she said, another piece of fruit in her hand to keep it busy. "That makes at least one wedding a day for all the days of the past month."

Your eyes came back to her at the mention of marriage, open and tender as you regarded her, and the look in your eyes emboldened her. More than any lingering warmth from the wine. More than any illusion of recklessness that indulging in the drink could possibly hope to induce.

Ganyu's intention had been to invite you to accompany her to a wedding since she had been given the privilege of a guest of her own. Just one wedding.

Perhaps, if she could find the words after, she was planning to ask you to move in with her in the new residential compound at Yujing Terrace since construction was nearing completion. Rex Lapis was personally overseeing it, and she had been allotted an apartment in the compound as a benefit for her service in the newly formed Liyue Qixing.

The apartment that would be hers was far too generous for one occupant, but appropriate for two.

There were many humans who sent out invitations to the adepti as a whole. For births. For the blessing of their newly built houses. For the opening of new shops and the founding of businesses. For engagements. For weddings.

Just like her, you had been invited to celebrate with the humans on many occasions, but you have never accepted.

There was something about having witnessed the many weddings she had that stirred something ravenous in her heart. She did not know her own heart to be particularly movable – which was a trait to be credited to her being part adepti – but there was something in the customs of a marriage that left her with the hunger to overlap with you in a way that was tangible.

Adeptal energy had a signature that only other adepti could identify. Among your people, there was no question of your relationship. Your adeptal energy was evident on her entire body, as hers was on yours. The other adepti could sense it. Some of them could even see it. Even more important than that was they respected it.

However—

When you visited her at the harbour in the temporary office building Rex Lapis had set up for her in her new role in supporting the governance of Liyue, would the humans know that she was yours just by looking? That you were hers? Would they even be able to discern the love that bound the two of you?

Marriage was a custom that the humans created to give importance to the promise of a forever that was attainable for them. Their lives were too short for any forever that spanned more than a hundred years. The adepti never had need of such a practice because any length of forever was entirely within reach.

Even so, Ganyu longed for it – the promise that knits two hearts together, celebrated in the manner that both humans and adepti alike could partake in with joy.

"I would like the two of us to have a wedding of our own to celebrate."

The night seemed to stop in its trek to pass over the orange-pink of the evening. The Geo crystalflies darting about like daytime stars seemed to hear a call to return home since the day was coming to an end. The rocks that made up the Guyun Stone Forest held their breaths. The sea that surrounded the two of you seemed to cease its motion and wait.

The sky and the sea and the stones and all the creatures about waited. Ganyu waited with them.

"Of course, Xiao Yu," you said, detaching your back from the knotwood tree root behind you and leaning in to close the distance. You reached for her across the folding table, scooping her hand up from the lacquered surface to clasp it in yours, and the smile that adorned your face was more brilliant than the rising sun. "In the mortal customs and with the blessing of our people, let's be joined."

Her next exhale flowed easily from her parted lips.

As her breath moved from within her to outside of her, so did any nervousness that gripped her heart. Her chest relaxed with your unhesitating acceptance of her marriage proposal. The realisation that her fretting was unfounded was beginning to dawn on her.

She reciprocated the grip you had on her hand in kind.

You once confessed to her many human lifespans ago, before the thick of the Archon War, that your hands were made only for possessing the things of blood and the things of destruction. Back then, Ganyu had neither the courage nor the eloquence to offer you her own differing opinion. These hands of yours were now lined with scars and hardened in many places from even more battles won, but she firmly believed they were made to hold hers.

She lifted your joined hands to her lips and hoped you understood her just the same.

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delopsia · 3 months

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Coyote | Miles Miller x Reader

Word Count: 7,500 Cross Posted on AO3 Warnings & Notes: 18+. AFAB!Reader, wolf! Reader, coyote! Miles (it's a werewolf AU with a twist), mentions of food PTSD and forced marriage, running away together, car sex, and overstimulation. No established time setting, so you can imagine this as a modern! AU or canon to when the movie took place :) Brief Summary: You've got no choice but to marry the son of a rivaling family in order to bring unity once and for all. But on the night before your dreaded wedding, Miles makes good on your wish to run away together.

This bed used to be comfortable.

Falling into it once felt like plummeting through the sky and being caught by a giant, fluffy cloud. Soft, delicately scented sheets, washed in a laundry detergent exclusively used for this room alone. One of the many perks of the honeymoon suite, alongside the extra space, pink interior, and a promise of complimentary, sweet drinks, so long as you took the time to visit the front desk and ask for them.

Your head lifts, craning to peer over your shoulder. The sleeping body that occupies your bed isn't the one that you're used to. Stiff. Not the snuggly presence that you've grown to associate with this mattress. His back has long since turned to you, growled snores rattling every last nerve you've got. And yet, you can't help but be thankful that he's not awake and looking at you.

Because then you'd be forced to confront the reality of this situation you've found yourself in.

Reluctant, your eyes flick to the dresser. It's usually up beneath the two-way mirror, but now, it has found itself awkwardly shoved into a vacant corner. If only the stark white wedding dress sitting on top of it had taken note and miraculously found its way into the dumpster. But like the gaudy ring sitting atop the bedside table, it hasn't moved an inch.

Come dawn, his nameless sisters will rush into the room and help shove you into it all. Dressing you in costume like one of their childhood dolls, powdering your face with extravagant makeup, and helping you into those too-high shoes that your future mother-in-law so stubbornly insisted you wear. As if walking down that aisle wasn't hard enough, to begin with.

It's cruel, truly.

Your feet are destined to walk a fine line between two families. To become the glue—no, the contract that will bind them together for the rest of eternity. A purpose that was placed upon your shoulders before they had even formed in the womb. Because a bunch of old men and women couldn't settle things like adults, crying about how its not the way your ancestors would have wanted it.

Werewolves. Stuck so far in the past that even modern history does not recognize them.

Up until recent, you'd found them all to be the same. Clinging to the shiny title of their ancestors, vying to establish themselves using the accomplishments of those before them. Stubbornly clinging to their old ways, fearing the concept of change more than the fangs of a hungry vampire.

You'd thought it when you were approached with the demand that you meet the son of the family that rivaled your own. Travel from the warm comforts of one state and into a cold, unfamiliar one every weekend to meet him and to fall in love. And if you could not find love, you would need to learn tolerance. Accept this unhappy future for the sake of the family, they said. For your troubles, you were offered a reservation at a comfortable hotel. A place to rest in between the drive and enjoy the last of your freedoms before the wedding bells rang.

Oh, but that doe-eyed boy behind the reception desk...

Miles.

In the past, you've heard your family refer to families of coyote-based shifters, but until you stumbled into this little hotel, you'd never met one in person. And even then, you couldn't pick one out of a lineup if your life depended on it. But from the moment you heard him knock on your door during your very first stay, you'd known something was different about him.

"I-I'm sorry," he stuttered, wild blue eyes darting every which way as he held out a small, familiar object in his hand. Your wallet. "You—you forgot this on my desk."

He could have kept it. Lord knows he needed every penny in there, but he'd brought it back to you just as you'd left it.

"Oh," quite frankly, you were speechless. Even now, you can't think of anything you could have said to fill the awkward gap of silence as you took it from his hand. "Thank you..." Your eyes frantically scanned across his jacket for that damned name tag. But it was upside down. Forcing you to tilt your head for a better read. "Miller?"

His eyebrows furrowed. Head tilted, like you had just spoken in a different language. "Huh?"

"That's your name, isn't it?" You nodded towards the nametag.

He had to follow your gaze to figure out what you were looking at. And as soon as he realized, his hands jumped into the air. "Oh!" Scurrying to fix it. Laughing. "I'm—I'm sorry. It's...my name is Miles..." Then, paused as he was in the process of flipping it, hesitantly meeting your eye. "Miller is my last name."

The only thing you'd known to do was to smile and correct yourself, but now the silence was unbearable. Miles and his awkward grin, wringing his hands, eyes flicking every which way. But then, all of a sudden, his head snapped toward the double doors of the lobby. He'd heard something, but you couldn't pick up a damn thing. Even as he apologized and darted off, you couldn't figure out what the hell he was hearing.

Strangest of all, a strange scent clung to the fabric of your wallet. Earthier. Like standing in a forest after a storm. That was no wolf scent; in fact, you had never encountered it before.

What was it?

You got your answer when, on your second visit, he ambled back up to your door—carrying a slice of pie fresh out of the oven, still steaming and hot to the touch. The same flavor you had looked for when you first arrived at the hotel, only to find that it was the one flavor freshly sold out. Originally, it was an apology for the off-putting note he'd left you on, but then he'd accidentally let go of the plate before you fully had a hold of it.

He'd yipped the moment the ceramic hit the ground. Then burst into an apology, claiming the noise to be some 'dumb coyote thing.'

The walk back to get another slice ended in chatter that has yet to die down.

Maybe he bewitched you with the sweet treats and cozy blankets he brought out of the exclusive bungalows because you didn't like the texture of the ones typically used to furnish your room. Or it could have been the soft touches and delicately whispered comments as if speaking any louder would cause the sentiment to lose all of its meaning.

But one way or another, you found your arms wrapped around those lithe shoulders. Catching each and every single one of his flurried kisses. Soft and giving, never demanding a thing, and so, so eager to give everything to you, even if that wasn't very much to start with. Stumbling backward until the back of your knees hit the bed, losing your balance in an instant.

You haven't quit falling since.

The body next to yours shifts, rolling closer to you, and the hand that skims your back does nothing but make you wriggle to the edge of the bed. Those aren't the hands that you've grown accustomed to, appearing softly at first. Feather-light fingertips stroking up the curve of your waist, gradually gaining confidence in his touch the further he goes until he flattens his palm against your belly.

A part of you can still hear what Miles would say right now.

"Is this still okay?" His lips always brush against your bare shoulder. Always seeking the reassurance that the boundary is still where it was a couple of hours ago, perhaps due to his own wavering line of what he can and can't handle.

The following whispered consent is religiously rewarded with a lingering kiss, his warm breath fanning out against your skin. Followed by another. And another. Guiding himself up your cheek to press one to your lips before nuzzling his nose into your neck.

They say coyotes and wolves don't mix, but you go together like lightning and thunder. Where Miles is swift and flickering, you are the booming, large presence that follows.

Tap.

Your head lifts.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

There's nobody outside the window; there are no curtains, no scent to reveal their presence. Your eyes are designed for this very lighting, and yet, you cannot spot a single thing out of place.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

It's not coming from the window. No, the tapping is...inside the room.

As slow as you can physically manage, you slip from the bed, careful not to disturb your sleeping partner. The last thing you feel like dealing with is a know-it-all man stealing the reins from your more-than-capable hands. Like he did when Miles turned up at the door, returning the ring you intentionally left at his desk. He damn near shoved you out of the way, unable to allow a coyote like Miles around you, even for a second.

Tap. Tap.

Coming from your right. But that doesn't make any...

the mirror.

The mirror is open.

"Miles," you can barely recall the sensation of your feet crossing the floor. Slipping into his warm arms before you can think twice, uncaring of the awkward gap you must lean over. "How did you..."

"Shh," squeezing you as close as he can possibly manage. "If he catches us..."

You'll both be dead.

But the continued, growling snores insist he's not waking anytime soon.

Reluctant, you peel yourself away from him. Too eager to get a glimpse of his face. "What are you doing here?"

"I wanted to—I..." he pauses. Recollecting himself. Squeezing your shoulders in his palms. "Do you remember what you said about wantin' to run away with me?"

You don't...you don't know what to say. Head tilting to glance at the occupied bed. Then to your luggage. Just moments ago, you were daydreaming about Miles, but, but... God, where will you go? How will he hide you from the sensitive noses of your family?

"I—I got my car workin' again, and I found scent blockers, and," he gulps so hard that his Adam's apple bobs. Frantic eyes flicking to the bed. Then back to you. "I ain't been there in a while, but I've still got that little apartment I told you 'bout."

You know where he's going with this. And your heart is hammering against your chest. Begging you to say yes. But your head knows better. There's no way you can escape without being caught. "Miles..."

"I know I ain't got all that much. I don't...I know I can't give you the same kind of life he could, but I..." his forehead presses against yours. Big, warm hands rising to curl around your cheeks. Blocking out the rest of the world as his heart continues to pour off of his tongue. "I can promise I'll love you until you're absolutely sick of me. Like you are of that pie I keep bringin' you."

As if that wasn't enough, he leans in and seals it by leaning in and meeting your lips. The gentlest of locks, hardly enough to count as a kiss at all. It feels like the first, all over again.

And you'll be damned if it's the last.

It takes five and a half steps to reach your suitcase. Three to slip into your shoes. One more to snatch that gaudy ring off of the bedside table. Ugly but valuable, given all of the things you've heard about it since it was shoved onto your finger.

The wheel clangs against the wall as you lift it. Miles goes pale. You freeze. The whole world stops turning. Slow, as if moving too quickly will cause the man in bed to stir, you turn your head.

Still asleep.

Getting the suitcase through the mirror should have been the hard part, but in reality, it's figuring out how to get up and swing your legs through the gap without smacking your head on the top. Miles's guiding hands are the only thing that helps you pull it off, firm against your waist, holding you firm in the event you lose your balance.

One foot leaves the worn hotel carpet.

The other lands on the solid, cement floor of the hidden corridor.

Miles swings the mirror shut. The latches audibly slide back into place. And suddenly, it's completely and utterly silent. Mere feet away from a man you've already forgotten the name of. Maybe you would remember if your attention wasn't wrapped up in the sight of Miles himself. Soft and real and dressed in that cozy mustard yellow cardigan.

He looks at you.

You look at him.

For a split second, telepathy is real. And you're both thinking the same damn thing.

"Oh, what the heck," he breathes, arms already beginning to open up, "c'mere."

It's the easiest thing you've done in your life. Stepping forward, shrinking that gap between your bodies in an instant. Arms draping across those lithe shoulders, noses crashing together as he clumsily kisses you. Careful arms curling around your waist.

Oh, it's everything you were just dreaming about. The dizzying sensation of him using his weight to push your back up against the chilly cement wall. Such a sharp contrast to the warmth radiating off of him, daring to press up against you.

You're melting like ice cream in the sweltering summer sun. Fingers lazily tangling in his hair, falling into the plush caress of his lips against yours. He tastes like the cola he keeps hidden behind the bar, so sweet that you reckon he's giving you a secondhand sugar rush, chasing away the remnants of sleep that still cling to your psyche.

The tips of his fingers brush at your nape, crawling to trace against your cheek, then down your shoulder. Can never seem to keep those big, weathered hands occupied for more than a few seconds at a time. Always has to be moving. Always.

You need to get going. Run before anyone notices your absence and comes looking. Can't even begin to imagine the things they would say if they walked in on you like this. Running away on the night before your wedding, tangled up with your new lover before a minute has even passed.

"Miles..." speaking against his lips. A half-assed effort that dies down as soon as he closes that gap again. Leading with his nose, the cold tip of it brushing against your cheek.

"We should stop..." he whines into your kiss like he's been longing for it all his life. On the same damn page as you, just as helpless, too. "We should..."

His hips twitch forward. Clumsily knocking into yours. The slightest brush of your bodies, and yet it's enough for you to catch onto what you've done to him. Hard as a rock in those stretchy work pants, so damn visible that you can see the bulge of his cock, right here in the dark.

Bold, you push forward. Foreheads bumping together as Miles struggles to back track, feet tangling, falling back against the wall with a surprised grunt. Wide eyes peer back at you, confused, but only for a moment. His unspoken question is answered by the sudden pressure of your palm, curling around the outline of him through his slacks.

Those pretty eyes fall shut, sucking in a breath. "Wha—here?" Though he's not putting up much of an argument against it. Struggling to suppress the whine that rolls past his lips, hips twitching up into you. So, so sensitive, no matter how many times you've done this to him.

"Do you want me to stop?" You're almost certain what his answer will be, thumb already toying with the metal of his button.

But his silence still has you waiting.

His head drops, forehead landing against your shoulder, almost ashamed to whisper, "...no."

The drag of his zipper is enough to make the button pop loose, so cheaply made that it was barely fastened in the first place. Your daring fingers slip inside, seeking the soft material of his boxers...that you don't find.

No, instead, your fingertips brush against warm skin, not another layer of clothing there to separate you from his heavy cock. And despite your surprise, your hand is already wrapping around him.

"Had a customer while I was gettin' dressed," Miles blurts, suddenly talkative as you give him a loose, experimental stroke, figuring out which angle is most comfortable for your arm, "I didn't have time—oh," your thump swipes over his weeping tip, always so wet for you, "and then, and then you walked in the door and I..."

"Forgot?" Filling in the blanks. Hardly able to pay attention to what he's saying. Too busy paying attention to the weight of him in your grasp, how his cute hips rock back and forth on their own, subtle accord. You shouldn't get this much pleasure out of stroking him, spreading his precum down his shaft.

His head nods against your shoulder, hair tickling your neck. "Uhuh."

Your eyes flick to the mirror, peering through the darkness of the hotel room you were in just minutes ago. Not a soul has noticed your absence yet. But even if they had, you don't think you'd be able to care. Too wrapped up in the soft whimpers that fall off Miles's tongue, the way they grow louder when your spare hand twists in his hair, pulling gently.

His head lifts, and your mouths crash together with all the grace of a trainwreck. Teeth clattering. Tongues meeting without a shred of notice. Messily tangling in the chilly air. Punctuated by Miles's sharp inhale.

Outside, a truck engine roars to life.

"Car," Miles chokes, "we gotta..."

It's the biggest power struggle of the century, his lithe body rolling against yours, too eager to feel you and have you and eat you alive, all at the same time. The sly twist of your wrist does absolutely nothing to help his case, eyes scrunching shut at the feeling. He's only got control of his hand, darting into his pocket. Returns with a thin plastic tube that you smell before you see.

Roll-on scent blocker. The nastiest combination of chemicals you've ever encountered, but they do their job as promised. Warm against your temple as he rubs it on you, covering your scent glands, one at a time. The ones on your neck, behind your ears, and the insides of each of your wrists, that horrid, sterile stench assaulting your nose like a bad memory. An unpleasant experience drawn out by the way you continue to torment your lover, thumb massaging beneath his sensitive tip all the while

But it's on, and Miles is damn dragging himself away, shoving himself back into the confines of his pants before he can even begin to second-guess his decision. Lips so wet that they shine, catching in the fraction of light provided in this dark little corridor as he bends down to grab the handle of your suitcase.

"Car," he repeats as if he's trying to convince himself more than you.

His spare hand reaches out, an open invitation that you're already halfway into taking. Fingers locking around each other, tightening as he guides you down this maze of a hallway. Past room after room, around two sharp bends, toward a dull, hardly helpful light. You're pretty sure he borrowed that bulb from one of the bungalows after management defaulted on their usual payment for supplies.

You wonder if this is the last time you'll ever see this hotel.

The somewhat offputting taxidermy behind the reception desk. Clashing with the refined purples and blues of this section of the building. Dusty gambling machines and tables that haven't seen a game since last winter are now only useful for storing cleaning products and a stash of towels.

All so dead compared to the vivid gold, orange, and brown across the room. Warm lighting and the equally cozy booths snuggled into the lower floor. Far too pretty to be surrounded by a floor tile that aims to recreate an enchanting stone pathway, and has instead become a heaven to dirt and trash that no mop or vacuum can fully collect.

It's all there and gone in a second, cut short by the squeal of the front doors, opening up to a big, rainy world, all yours to explore. The parking lot is so flooded that it's become one big puddle, splashing as you run through it, licking at your exposed ankles. You can hardly tell where you're going, blindly led by the hand that has yet to let go of yours.

The car is parked all by its lonesome in the center of the lot, away from the other residents and directly across from the vehicle you were driven here in. Only when you're close does Miles let go of you, treading toward the back of the vehicle while you reach for the car door. You've never been so thankful to find that something is unlocked, damn near falling into the backseat.

Miles is on you before you even hear the trunk close. Hips slotting between your thighs as he squirms on top of you, giggling as he trails kisses up the side of your neck. Leading himself over your jaw and across your cheek, moving so quickly that it almost tickles. Only pausing to linger when he meets your mouth, humming like the cat who got the cream.

"Whole darn weddin' party is parked out here," he grunts, unabashedly rolling himself against your thigh, "almost feel bad for stealin' you away."

"Don't," sucking in a breath, tugging at that damned cardigan of his, "the wedding was more for them than it was for me."

He leans back on his haunches, tugging the flimsy material from his shoulders. Tosses it somewhere up in the front seat. "Promise I won't make ya feel like that if we ever get to have one."

Your head is spinning, struggling for an ounce of sanity in this cramped little car as you reach to push your shorts down your legs. "Do you want me to go back for the dress so you can marry me before the sun is up?" Half joking.

You fear you'd do it if he asked.

But his head just shakes, already beginning to fumble with the buttons of his work shirt. "Nah," two snap off entirely, scattering into the leather seat. By the time you realize he's got it off, he's already halfway into peeling that final layer over his head. He's on you before the old tee has even landed on the floorboard. Returning to his favorite place between your legs. "You were right when you said that the dress doesn't suit ya at all."

It's hard to lift your hand to your heart and feign shock when his chest is pressed up against your own, careful lips pressing kisses to the underside of your jaw. Hell, working up a tone of mock surprise is even a task. "You were watching me change?"

"You," kiss, "were facing the mirror," another kiss, "lookin' right back at me the whole time." One more, right on your lips. Too innocent for what goes on down below, the heavy bulge of his cock rubbing against you.

On their own accord, your legs are circling him, pulling those lithe hips even closer; he's got the idea, already beginning to grind into you in earnest. Makes it so, so hard for you to focus on your half-assed attempt at defending yourself. "I was trying to see what I looked like!"

"Do you always mouth my name when you undress?" His words come out breathy, like the very memory is enough to get under his skin. "Had half the mind to open the mirror right then 'n there."

You can't even begin to imagine what kind of hell would unravel if he'd done that. Haven't a doubt in your mind that you would have been on him in a second, much like you are right now. Frenzied hands smoothing past his biceps, scurrying up to slide across his back. Silky smooth beneath your palms, interrupted by a raised scar that sits next to the knobs of his spine, with a story you'd rather not recall.

All too quickly, it's fallen quiet in this little car. Nothing but the soft pitter-patter of rain against the roof, set alight by the distinct red glow of the grand, neon sign hanging overhead. As if anyone could possibly forget they were staying at the El Royale. So damn bright that it reflects off Miles's pale skin, glistening as he kisses down your neck, soft mouth so feather-light that it tickles in the best of ways.

He jerks backward. Face twisting like he's eaten something sour. Barely manages to keep his eyes open.

"Get a taste of that scent blocker?" You giggle, already halfway into reaching up, curling your palm around his cheek. Now, it's your hand that is bathed in the warm, red glow.

"Uhuh," and he's already responding to the faint nudge of your fingertips, eyelashes fluttering closed as he meets you halfway.

And despite it all, it's as gentle as it has always been. The sort of thing that melts you around the edges, with the slow guide of his lips, massaging against yours in an elegant dance that no soul can recreate. Head spinning like a tiny ballerina in a music box, moving to a melody that only you two can hear.

But then your delicate tongue is swiping against his lower lip, and he's parting with a dizzying gasp. Downright placid as you lick into his mouth, so shy he can hardly rise to greet you, darting away the moment you meet. But then he's back again, lazily tangling with you, fleeting meetings and contented hums, bodies pressing impossibly closer. His hips involuntarily twitch up into yours, the outline of his cock rubbing against your cunt, and the two thin layers between you do nothing to stop you from feeling how he spasms in his slacks.

Your touches are wandering. Skating down his neck and across his chest, svelte and gently muscled, like you're running your palms across a marble statue. Dancing over the slight dent of a scar on his belly, the one he's only recently felt comfortable having touched, past the divots of his ribs and down his sensitive sides.

He's everything, and he doesn't even know it.

"Miles..." gasping into his mouth, breathless.

His head tilts. You can almost see those large, pointed ears twisting on the sides of his head. Always curious. "Hm?"

Hell. You don't even know what you were saying his name for. Wordless, your hand continues to wander between your bodies and across the hem of his pants, cupping him through them. Rewards you with a groan far too loud for this tranquil backseat.

Overhead, thunder rolls as if Mother Nature herself has risen from her slumber to remind you of where you are. How easily you can get caught if someone notices your absence and walks out into the parking lot. One little peak into the windows is all it would take.

You don't have the luxury of taking your time. Not tonight, at least.

So you do the only thing you can think of. You hitch your thumbs into the waistband of your underwear and tug. With Miles between your legs, you're forced to draw your knees to your chest to fully draw them down, forcing him to lean back. He's already batting your hands away, pulling the thin material past your heels and dropping them on top of his own clothes.

It happens so quickly compared to how slowly things were progressing just moments before. Your curious fingers pulling at his zipper for the second time today, too eager to see him spill out of his slacks once more, pink tip flushed so red that it rivals the neon glow cast upon you. Not necessarily big in size, but thick enough for it to be noticeable.

Ugh, you hadn't realized how wet you were until now, cunt leaving him glistening from dragging between your folds alone.

"Fuck," you whisper over an airy breath, struggling to keep your eyes open, "I missed this."

The corner of Miles's lip rises, eyelashes fluttering like tiny butterflies, bashfully smug in a fashion that only he can pull off. His mouth moves, but not a word comes out, too focused on watching his cock head drag against your clit to produce more than a hum. Those narrow hips have already found the pace you didn't realize you were craving; he always has been a quick learner.

It's mesmerizing to watch the plush tip gliding in and out of your view, leaking a bead of precum that gets lost in your wetness. And you can't help but reach down and run your fingers overtop of him, feeling over the myriad of bulging veins.

Without warning, his body twitches backward a smidgen too far, unintentionally sliding down to nudge against your entrance. Delicious pressure blooms, and you fear you're too far gone to put it off any longer. Eager hands rise to curl around his biceps, squeezing lightly as his head slips inside.

"I..." those eyes of his are focused where your bodies meet, helpless to stop himself as he sinks into your pussy, "condom...forgot..."

A part of you should be worried about it. There's no way that you'll be able to go inside and clean up, and lord only knows how long it'll take to get to his apartment. Yet your eager legs are wrapping around him before he can think twice about it, drawing him deeper.

"That's okay," you pant, don't particularly mind the idea of feeling him spasm and fill you up again. It's been so long that you can't remember the last time it happened.

Six weeks without him was far too long. This is what you've been missing. The heavy drag of him inside you, curved in such a way that he rubs into the nerves hidden there, kissing them on his way past. A dull ache grows as he stretches you open, so damn thick that you ought to win an award for taking him to the base.

Miles wavers, forearms shivering as he fights to keep himself upright. A weak leaf shaking in the wind, breaking the moment you pull him in, collapsing into you with a loud, echoing whimper. He's already bottoming out, the soft material of his pants flush against your ass. There goes every bit of rationality you have left.

"You can move," you're speaking clearly. At least, you think you are, but your favorite coyote doesn't seem to hear you. Soft nose bumping into the side of your neck, a little too comfortable there. "Miles." Nothing.

Your hand slips down to smack his ass.

He grunts. Jolting into you. Whether or not he heard what you said is anyone's guess, but he's starting to move. Peeling his soft, warm body backward, cock withdrawing. For a moment, you can breathe. Blessed with a moment of sanity before he sinks back in, gingerly nudging the air from your lungs.

"Is that..." his warm cheek brushes against yours. Always has to be so close, "Is that okay?" The swell of his ass pushes into your hand; you can't help but grab a handful of it.

"More than okay," it's difficult to recognize this tone of your voice, so airy that it might as well have been whispered by the wind.

You don't understand how something simple can feel so good. The gentle roll of his hips are so fluid that his thrusts almost feel smooth. No harsh smack of skin on skin or jostling meetings of your bodies, the curve of his cock rubbing into every nerve it can find. Has your cunt so wet around him that you can hear it. Sickening squelches too damn out of place for such delicate movements.

Lips ghost across the side of your jaw, peppered by the faint whimpers that slip from Miles's throat, fussy in that stereotypical coyote fashion. It does nothing to change what you're feeling, yet you're pulsing around him, set off by those sweet little noises.

"You look so beautiful underneath me," he mewls against the corner of your lips, half-lidded eyes gazing down at you with a familiar glimmer. Only he can look at you like that. Not anyone you've ever crossed paths with. And certainly not the man you were meant to marry come sunrise.

Your legs are squeezing tighter around him, drawing his warm frame impossibly close, as if he could slip away from you at any given moment. Best of all, he lets you. Situating his forearms to rest on either side of your head, chests snug against each other, leaning up just enough to keep looking into your eyes. One of those big hands curls around your cheek, cradling it like glass.

His angle shifts, driving up into those little nerves so hard that your legs twitch, body jerking on its own accord. Must be a mutual thing because it has you gasping against each other's lips, quiet whines dancing through the dark car and out into the parking lot, washed away by the pouring rain.

"I can't get enough of you," Miles croaks, a little waver in his tone. All of a sudden, his eyes squeeze shut. Brows knitting together with a pained noise.

"Miles?" The haze is dissipating, your careful hands rising to cradle his head. "Are you okay?"

For a moment, he doesn't move.

"Uhuh," shallowly nodding, like that little motion even manages to hurt him, "I pulled a muscle in my back the other day, 's all." But then his body twitches forward, driving his cock back into you, and his face twists again.

You're only got one solution on deck.

Despite the overwhelming sense of emptiness you're left with when Miles pulls out of you, sitting up is easy. He doesn't need any help falling into the seat, legs a smidgen too long to sit back here, his knees digging into the backside of the passenger seat. And you're fortunate that the ceiling in this car is rather high because sitting on his lap puts you up much higher than you expected.

His hand disappears between your thighs, carefully taking hold of himself and guiding the tip back to nudge at your cunt. Ugh, it's perfect. The aching stretch of taking him once more, how he manages to still find those niche little spots that toys always seem to miss. So good that your jaw is slack before you've even taken all of him.

"Better?" You're already breathless, arms lazily coming to rest around his shoulders.

He's not doing much better than you are, head leaned back against the cushion, peering back at you with such an unfocused gaze that you reckon he might be on another planet. "Uhuh." But his hands rise to squeeze the sides of your hips, hanging on as you rise up.

You're gonna be in so much trouble if one of your wedding guests walks outside and catches a glimpse of your silhouette rising and falling. Never in their wildest dreams would they suspect that you're getting fucked by the coyote from the front desk. Your dripping pussy clenching around him like a vice, so wet that he almost slips out of you entirely.

"Fuck," hissing, your nails biting into the back of his pale neck, "Miles."

You were trying to go slow, but you can hardly control your own body, rhythm dissolving before you can even get it established—short, jerky movements, so frenzied that you can feel the vehicle sway with it. Mouths clash. Teeth knocking together. Miles and his pitchy whimpers damn near eat you alive.

"This is so bad," he's panting like a dog, cheeks flushed so red that you can see it through the neon glow. "So bad..."

Beneath you, his hips jerk upward, meeting you halfway. By the sound of it, he surprises both of you, crying out so sharply that you reckon the whole damn hotel heard it. You can't even find it in yourself to worry about getting caught. Not when he's twitching inside of you, hitting right where you crave him most.

"Feels good, feels good, oh my god," tears welling up in his eyes, already threatening to creep past his waterline, "fuck." Whimpering in the pitchiest little tone you've ever heard out of him.

He's so perfect. You think you could die happy right here and now.

It's so distracting that you don't realize what he's doing until his rough thumb is bumping against your clit. His pressure wavers, light as a feather one moment and then directly rubbing into it the next, struggling to keep up with your frenzied pace. But it's...it's...

"Miles, keep—" begging like your life depends on it. Punctuated by the lewd slap of skin on skin. "Keep doing that."

Those tears spill over his cheeks, a hiccup bubbling out of him, unraveling right in front of you. His legs squirm behind you, knees knocking together, can't stay still to save his life.

"Oh god, oh god," he's babbling. Head lolling back and forth like it's too heavy for him to keep up, yet his watery eyes remain on you, never once glancing away.

It's so much. You don't—you don't know how you're keeping it together. An ache blooming in the muscle of your thighs, knees digging uncomfortably into the crook of the seat. You're certain it'll leave a visible mark on them, but you can't stop. Hopelessly chasing the kiss of his cock head against your nerves and the drag of his length inside of you.

"I'm gonna...I'm gonna..." you know what he's trying to say; you're feeling it too. He stiffens, fighting to speak. "Baby, I'm gonna cum in you if you don't stop—"

"Cum in me, Miles," cutting him off entirely. Too damn impatient to keep quiet. Not when you can already feel a burning coil in your lower belly, winding tighter and tighter.

Those pretty blue eyes roll into the back of his head without further warning. Back arching, hips lifting off the seat, lips parted with a silent cry. The thumb on your clit spasms in tune with his cock, pulsing deep inside, flooding your pussy with his cum.

But you're not there yet. Trapped on a frustrating edge that you can't seem to fall over. Clenching so tight around him that you can already feel his cum spilling out and onto his pants, making a horrible mess that you don't have the means to clean. Your dominant hand drops down, knocking his out of the way, fingertips finding your clit.

All of a sudden, Miles is alive. His whole body jerks. Squirming back and forth. Whimpering. Whining. Feet kicking at the floorboard. It's too much for him, you know it is, but this isn't his first rodeo, and he's not telling you to stop.

"Feels too good, feels—" his hands clamp over his own mouth, one over top of the other, and even that hardly works.

"No," pawing at his wrists with your other hand, half-hearted, but the intent is still there. "I wanna hear you."

And he does. Arms hesitantly falling. Grabbing at the seats like he doesn't trust himself to not do it again. His head tilts back, a flurry of short, pitchy noises falling from his parted lips. Moaning like a cheap whore. Oversensitive. So damn eager to let you use him. Uncaring of who may overhear or what goes on outside this tiny car.

Heat rushes through you, skin prickling with a familiar tension. There's a tremor in your thighs that wasn't there before, cunt fluttering around him, muscles set alight. The coil in your lower belly winding tighter and tighter until you can't fucking breathe.

"C-cum," Miles stammers through a hiccup, blinking up at you, "cum on my cock, please."

And you do. Freezing without an ounce of warning, the car seeming to spin on its own as your orgasm finally, finally washes over you. It's as if you've been sucked out the window and up into the storm clouds above, absolutely fucking weightless as you cum around his cock. Every little twitch has him bumping into those abused spots, so exhausted that the only thing they can do is send a tingle through your thighs.

It takes you a good minute to realize why your forehead is so warm all of a sudden.

"I think..." Miles only starts talking when you lift your face from the crook of his shoulder, leaning back to get a look at him, "I think you almost killed me." But he accepts your kiss without complaint, humming into it with a grin.

"I can take you for another round if that's what you want," teasing, just to get a reaction out of him. You don't know if you could go again, even if you wanted to.

His head shakes back and forth, tear-stained cheeks glistening in the light. "Nuh-uh," interrupted by a giggle, "doll, you wear me out anymore, 'n I'll be asleep before you're even finished with me."

Your noses unintentionally bump into each other, a little too close. Miles shakes his head once more, rubbing them together.

"You still certain you wanna run with me?" He murmurs after a moment. There's a softness in his eye that suggests he wouldn't hold it against you if you were to turn and go back into your hotel room. Accept an incompatible partner in exchange for certain financial stability and status.

Someone who doesn't bury his head under your shirt and listen to your heartbeat when the hotel down the road sets off fireworks. Who won't wake you in the middle of the night, shivering over a dream that he never wants to describe.

Miles doesn't have all that much to offer. You know it. He knows it. But just looking at him has made you happier than anyone else ever has, flaws and all. Lord knows he wasn't lying when he promised to love you until you couldn't stand it because he already does.

You couldn't ask for anything more.

"For you?" Whispering against his lips, a secret to be shared just between the two of you. "Always."

For eleven months, nobody knows what happened to you.

A newspaper calls you an altar runaway but doesn't quite blame you for doing it, either. Photographs of you litter the streets of your hometown and the little city that the El Royale is considered a part of, but you're a long way from there. Settled down in an adorable apartment, working a job where no one recognizes you.

You're beginning to think that this is what bliss feels like. Miles and his warm arms, endearing coyote quirks, and sudden bursts of energy that leave you two giggling on the couch or venturing into a diner in a faraway town, just for the hell of it. He breaks apart on some days, but his promise never loses its shimmer, undamaged, regardless of it all.

The author of that article claims she spotted you walking out of a grocery store, hand in hand with a man who smelled like a coyote, with a dainty little ring around your finger. Nobody believes her when she reports it on the front page, and that's okay because it's your own little secret.

It's no one's business where this ring came from, how Miles painstakingly saved and designed it at a jewelry shop down the road, whittled a ring box with his own two hands. Whether or not it's a wedding or a promise ring is anyone's guess; you've no plans to tell.

"Honey," Miles whines, feet audibly padding into the room. You've hardly got the energy to lift your head. "You gotta quit leavin' your purse on the counter."

Wary, you pry one eye open. "Did you spill water on it again?"

"Might've," and you suppose that's why you can hear the fan running in the dead of winter.

The bed dips as Miles slips under the covers, bare legs tangling with yours before he can even get settled. One of these days, it will get cold enough to convince him to wear more than just an oversized t-shirt to bed, but today isn't that day. Hell, it may never come because he's long since figured out that he can nuzzle up and steal the heat off of you instead.

You don't need to look to know that he's beckoning you in; that fussy little whine of his tells it all. Coyotes. Talkative even when they're not using their words. Snuggle bugs, too. Miles already has his head nestled on top of yours, and you're not even finished getting situated.

"I love you," he whispers, those three little words far too delicate to be said any louder.

"I know," giggling. He told you while you were brushing your teeth just a few minutes ago, can never seem to quit saying it. "I love you too."

This bed is comfortable, but it'll never match the warmth that his arms bring.

#miles miller #miles miller x reader #bad times at the el royale #oneshot #werewolf au

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dal3ks · 1 year

Text

“sweet dreams, my love”

pairing: chrollo lucilfer x female reader

warnings: some canon divergence, bickering, swearing, some angst, lots of softness, mentions of violence

a/n: currently falling in love with this man with his suave appearance & smooth voice. enjoy this little ficlet because i am in need of some softness tonight.

“do you mean to tell me that no one has checked on her since i left?”

“well, it’s not like we didn’t mean to it’s just—“

“enough. i have heard enough, phinks. i will go look after her.”

soft steps echo through the vast space, a shadow making his way his through the rubble and debri. luckily there was no rain tonight, only the dim glow of the moon as it filtered through the openings and shattered windows.

in a tucked away area of the abandoned building, lay a cot, where a figure was curled up, a blanket shrouding her body. even from afar, the shadow could sense she was unwell, as she shivered.

he loathed that she couldn’t stay in a hotel, somewhere where it was a little warmer and dry. but with that came the risks: would someone catch on to the reservation name? would the chain user be able to find their location? would he take her?

for now, she would remain here, tucked away in this little area, safe from any potential harm.

somewhere where he could easily get to her.

carefully, he approaches her, fingers delicately brushing a lock of hair away from her brow, “i’m here, my love.”

blearily, her eyes open, lips curling into a shy smile, “i missed you, chrollo.”

leaning forward, chrollo places a gentle kiss on her forehead, “i missed you more, angel. how are you feeling? any better?”

she shakes her head, sniffling ever so slightly, “if i’m being honest, no. i still feel like shit.”

a chuckle rumbles in his throat, “at least you haven’t lost your spunk. would you like me to stay here, and read while you sleep?”

“did you have something to take care of? i don’t want you to leave me again.”

oh, how her quiet words always found a way to make his heart skip a beat.

sometimes he despised himself for how easily he let her affect him, how he thought or how he acted.

yet, he knew it was because of abundance of love, love for her, that managed to worm its way into his heart.

taking her hand, chrollo places soft kisses on her knuckles, eyes locking with hers, watching as the heat rushes into her cheeks.

oh, how he loved watching her melt under his touch, her body relaxing with every kiss, lashes fluttering as bliss filled her to the brim.

“yes, i did,” the answer is curt, “but i can have feitan or nobunaga take care of it.”

“so you’ll stay with me?” although she tries to appear nonchalant, chrollo could see right through her.

the way her gaze was begging him to stay, her body shifting in the cot so that there was more room, practically inviting him in.

“of course i’ll stay,” he murmurs, “do you want me in the cot with you?”

as she nods, he can’t help but feel his lips curve into a grin.

there was not much space in the cot to begin with, and it definitely was not meant for two people. yet, as chrollo settles into the cot, he brought her to chest, holding her as tightly as possible.

“i won’t leave you again, all right?”

“oh chrollo,” she whispers, “you don’t have to say that. you’re the leader. they need you. i know you need to go—“

“hush, now,” tenderly, fingers tread along her back, dancing along her spine, “i won’t leave you while you’re sick, or ever again.”

she nearly collapses against his body, letting out a content sigh, “i love you, chrollo.”

“and i love you, angel.” although she did indeed have a cold, or some sort of infection, chrollo could not imagine anywhere else he would rather be.

if he was gathered out with his comrades, the only thing on his mind would be her: how she was feeling, how she sleeping, and everything in between.

her breathing was slowing now, as sleep was finally taking over. as he placed his hand on her scalp, gently massaging, chrollo hoped that her dreams would be sweet, and that she wouldn’t wake till the morning.

“sweet dreams, angel,” he whispers, placing a kiss on her forehead once more, “dream of me, love. i’ll be here when you wake up.”

with those words, she snuggles into his chest, a hand still in her hair. fingers find his, and chrollo can’t help but soften as she intertwines her hand with his.

amid the stress and the chaos, chrollo could finally feel some sort of peace.

#chrollo #chrollo lucilfer #chrollo x reader #chrollo lucilfer x reader #hunter x hunter #h x h #chrollo fluff

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oliviajdjarin · 9 months

Text

Endings and Beginnings

Pairing: frank castle x fem!reader (she/her; afab)

Summary: After years of carnage, Frank finally comes home.

Warnings: heavy blood descriptions, Frank is an ass, kissing, reader has blue eyes, sexual implications, swearing, off canon, but a HEA.

A/N: Happy birthday @leahkenobi.

Word Count: 1.3k Type: blurb

You used to adore the rain.

How the wind it brought with it filled your home with a slight chill, causing you to cozy up in a blanket, no matter the season. How its ambiance always put your mind at ease, spelling out the plans for the rest of the day with its pitter patter pitter patter on the windowsills. How, despite the stickiness it brought, it always made a warm summer day just a little bit warmer. These nuances had always calmed you, squeezed every anxious thought from your brain like ringing out a cloth. It was warm, homey, weakening.

Now, all it does is make you pray.

Pray that the man you love is warm. Is safe. Is sheltered. Is not alone.

No matter how much you prayed, however, the pitter patter of the rain always seemed to illustrate visions of the soft pitter patter of his blood dribbling onto Hell's Kitchen's dirty streets. All alone.

All alone.

You shook your head, taking another sip of your coffee. Thinking like that caged you in a fit of endless anxiety, dragging you down a rabbit hole of fear and doubt and rage. You couldn't live like that anymore. You didn't deserve to live like that anymore.

They were the last words he had said to you that January night he had left you, and goddamn was he right.

You inhaled the sweetness of the caramel swirl sitting at the top of your beverage, allowing it to replace the feeling of him on your body. You had never managed to get it out of your head. No matter how hard you tried.

You finished off your drink and wiped your mouth, standing up to place it into the sink and actually begin getting ready for the day, when a dark shape appeared in your peripheral vision. It blocked out the delicate grey light seeping in your front door windows, and after staring at it for a few moments, you realized it would not move any time soon. You rolled your eyes and headed towards your door, ready to give the teenage boys constantly ding-dong-ditching you a piece of your fucking mind.

When you opened the door, however, the stature was that of the man you had been thinking of only seconds before.

So familiar it was skin deep, yet it chilled you down to your bones.

Wide - wide - shoulders, layered with a thin black hoodie. Standard height, a bulky torso, accompanied with equally bulky legs encased in baggy jeans. Feet always shoulder-width apart, decorated with decaying high-top sneakers that were once a tasteful grey, but were now a tree bark brown. His head turned down just enough for the majority of his face to be blocked by the rim of his black hat, but not enough to disguise his chiseled jawline.

So much heat rushed through your veins, as well as leather, black coffee, and iron in your nose.

So much iron.

You had just started to forget when he smelled like.

He continued staring down at his feet, his hands placed behind his back. He was positioned as a soldier would be as a medal was placed around his neck. Or a criminal turning himself in.

You smiled slightly, realizing he was a little bit of both.

Finally, he rose his head to meet your gaze, eyes squinting as they ran all over your face and neck. Some rain has soaked through his cap, sending streaks of water down his purple eyes. Your eyes softened at the severity of his bruises, as well as the small trail of stitches down his left cheek.

Despite it all, he smiled at you.

"I forgot how blue your eyes get when you look at me," he said with a slight chuckle. Hearing his voice again, deep and groveled from what had to have been a concoction of lack of sleep, cold from the rain, and his attempt to mask the pain. "Still makes me smile."

You just kept staring at him. Rattled and riddled with the inconceivable vision of him on your fucking doorstep.

He cleared his throat and looked down again, rocking himself back and forth on his heels slightly, his hands still behind his back. Until, his left one was suddenly in front of you, holding a bouquet of sunflowers, white roses, and lilacs.

How he had managed to keep the arrangement dry from the rain, you had no idea.

"Happy Birthday," he whispered roughly, and looked at you with more softness than you had ever seen in your life.

You took the bouquet from him with shaking fingers, setting it down lightly on the ground behind you, before turning back to him. You wondered if the water dripping down his face was not purely for the rain.

You couldn't hold yourself back any longer. You reached forward, grasping the collar of his hoodie, and tugged him forward. He stumbled slightly, always impressed at your strength, before chuckling again.

That chuckle quickly died as you unzipped the front, revealing his skull-covered vest coated in oxidized blood.

You closed your eyes, taking a slow, deep breath, before opening them again. You ran your fingers down the skull gently, starting from his collarbone all the way down to his belly button, and your eyes became blurry with tears as you did it.

You looked back up at him, sniffling lightly when you were met with his silken gaze again, and asked quietly, "Is it done?"

He shuddered slightly, knowing exactly what you meant. His eyes never drifted from yours as he replied, "Yes."

It was your turn to shudder. He brought his hands forward and placed them on your own, bringing them to his mouth. Kissing every knuckle. Eyes still locked to yours.

Through your tears, you asked, "Are you done, Frank?"

His eyes darkened at the sound of his name from your lips, and a chill ran down your back. His name had been an endless echo in your brain for months, and yet, you hadn't said it.

He managed to nod. "Yes."

And with that, he leaned forward, the rim of his hat brushing your forehead slightly as he kissed your forehead, your temple, your nose, your cheek, and then finally, your lips.

It was the gentlest he had ever kissed you, essentially lips against lips, as well as his scruff rubbing against you slightly. You nearly whined at the feeling, knees weakening at the thought that he was here, and he was finally yours.

"All yours, baby," he whispered against your mouth.

He had always been able to read your mind, and it was that domestic reminder that compelled you to pull him into your mouth completely, and walk him inside.

He met your vigor with his own, reaching one hand behind him to close the door and lock it, and the other to reach into your hair, tipping your head back to give him access to every inch of your mouth. He practically growled at the feeling, pressing his chest into you completely, and moving his hands down to squeeze your thighs before reaching around to the back pockets of your jeans. He stuck his hands in them gently, and both of you smiled.

You leaned in to kiss him again, but he removed one hand from your pocket to take your chin in his fingers. His eyes locked firmly on yours.

"I'm never," he mumbled, caressing your chin as he spoke, "ever leaving you again."

Not an atom inside you doubted him. You shook your head, and with a smile wide enough to meet his eyes, he leaned in to peck your lips.

"Pretty girl."

Frank Castle kept his word.

#frank castle #frank castle x reader #the punisher #frank castle x you #daredevil #karen page #jon bernthal #jonny bernthal

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rinixo · 2 years

Text

the end of all our exploring

Din Djarin/Reader | 2.6k | Rated E | afab reader, no y/n, vaginal sex, dirty talk, helmet comes off, canon divergence

The journey is over. Din wants to show you how he feels, and gives the only things he has to give.

Non-linear oneshots featuring you, a university scholar from Naboo who is helping The Mandalorian seek out the Jedi.

A/N: This is a jump in terms of "timeline". Future works may explore alternate scenarios and different points in time. Basically - there is no standardized timeline I'm following with this. :^)

read on ao3

“What are you thinking?”

You turned, finding Mando leaning casually against the doorframe. The light coming in from the windows reflected brilliantly in his armor, and – not for the first time – you found yourself in awe of the stoic bounty hunter. You looked around at the beautiful room you were in, the desert sunset casting an orange glow through the open windows. Thin linen drapes drifted lazily with the evening breeze.

After finishing your journey, Mando offered to return you to Naboo. You had accepted, albeit somewhat sadly, with the condition that you stop by a few places on the way there. You were currently on Tattooine, in the Daimyo’s palace. Din had some business with Boba Fett, and you were more than happy to explore Mos Eisley. Your days felt a bit lonely without Grogu there, but you found comfort in knowing he was safely with the Jedi. You hoped you’d see him again someday.

As evening fell, you returned to the palace, and were shown to your accommodations. The staff, “on behalf of the Mandalorian”, had graciously prepared a beautiful room near the top of the palace, overlooking the dunes and rocky cliffs. Along with a delicious meal and a hot bath, you had also been given a gorgeous and delicate gown made of dyed Xamarri silk. It was definitely the most expensive piece of clothing you had even worn, handmade and draped in ways you didn’t know existed.

With a smile, you gestured around you. “Just thinking. You’re spoiling me, Mando. This is the most beautiful room I’ve ever been in.”

“I’m glad,” he replied. You grinned, leaning against one of the terracotta pillars. The impending return to a Mando-less life on the horizon was made easier to bear by these last precious days with your companion.

“I was trying to think of a way to repay you for everything you’ve done. A way to show you how grateful I am.” Mando stepped forward, and reached for you. A soft frown flickered across your face as he gently held your hands in his own.

“I have a gift for you.” His thumb stroked your hand softly, and you felt your heart flutter along with it. “To show you how much you mean to me.”

You shook your head. “Mando-”

“Din.”

You titled your head in confusion. “Is that a mando’a word?”

“No. It’s my name. Din Djarin.”

Blood rushed in your ears and your heart swelled with affection. The amount of trust he had just shown you, telling you his name – you had never expected –

“Din,” you said softly, and his hands squeezed yours. Smiling, you blinked up at him, eyes reflected back at you from his helmet. “Thank you, Din. This…I’m touched that you would share this with me.”

Another squeeze, and he loosened his grip on your hands. “That isn’t all. There’s something else I want to give you.” He raised his hands to his helmet, and confusion turned to panic as he began to lift it off of his head.

“Din!” You gasped, grabbing his wrists and halting his attempt to remove his helmet. “Din, no. You didn’t need to give me anything to begin with, and just your name is more than anything I could have ever wanted. You don’t have to – please don’t break your creed for me.”

“I…I’ve been struggling with the creed for a while now,” Din explained. “Questioning its place in my life – the life I want to have.” You hadn’t wanted to pry, but had a feeling he had been contemplating his clan’s interpretation and strict rules for a few weeks now. Over the past months, his place in the galaxy had been turned on its head. The creed, what once was a unyielding part of his being, had softened into many different paths.

“Meeting Fett, and Bo-Katan, and learning the history of my clan…” he trailed off, and then seemed to re-focus. “There are new things in my life that I cherish, and I don’t want to only be able to see them through a visor.” He moved his hands to cup yours against the rim of his helmet. “To only see you through a visor.”

You felt your eyes begin to water with emotion. With baited breath, you nodded and assisted him in pulling his helmet up and off his head.

Thick brown curls, flattened by the helmet. Brown eyes framed by soft laugh lines, and a beautiful aquiline nose. Full lips that drooped slightly at their sides, and a patchy smattering of dark facial hair flecked with bits of peppery gray. Din was lovely. You had often wondered what he looked like, and sometimes amused yourself by guessing, but nothing your mind made up could have matched the man in front of you now.

Din set his helmet gently to the side, and you tentatively reached up to cup his face. His gaze, already soft, melted as you gently ran your thumb along his cheekbone. Your heart thrummed with anticipation and desire as his hands came to grasp you at your waist. With a soft smile, you cupped the side of his head and tipped his head down so you could meet his lips with your own.

He hummed lowly against you, and you reeled from the feeling of his mouth against you. You started slow, careful, wanting to memorize the sensation of finally being able to kiss the man you had been living with for the past year.

Desire and desperation began to climb, and Din began to back you up towards the large bed in the room. The twin suns had just set, and the lingering light stretched soft shadows across your forms. The back of your legs hit the mattress, and you fell back, bringing Din down with you. You gasped into his mouth, and he took the opportunity to deepen your kiss. You reached up to grasp his shoulders, widening your legs so that he would fall deeper onto you.

You whined lowly as he pulled away, raising himself over you with his hands on either side of your head. Your lips felt swollen and raw in the most delicious way, and his matched. Even in the low light you could see his pupils blown wide as he drank in your features like a man starved. You rubbed his cheek lightly.

“Everything ok?” You asked quietly. So much had been changed between you two within the last few minutes and your head still spun. You could only imagine how he was feeling. “It’s alright if you want to stop.”

“No,” he said lowly, and you shivered in delight at his unshielded voice. “No, I just…you’re so beautiful, cyar’ika.” He lowered his head to press his lips against your own, his nose nuzzling your cheek. You smiled against him, reaching up to card your fingers through his surprisingly soft hair.

With quiet, practiced ease Din began to remove his armor. You scooted yourself further up the bed as he did so, slipping your own gown down your arms. Eager to be close to you again, Din crawled across the bed dressed just in his most basic layers, and settled between your thighs. His hands came up to replace yours, and slowly pulled the thin layers of silk the rest of the way off your torso. His hands skimmed over your breasts, studying their weight and how your nipples pebbled in response to his touch.

You bit your lip as he continued to pull your gown off, lifting your hips slightly so he could remove it and toss it to the side. You were completely bare, and you shifted your legs self-consciously as he stared. Sensing the slight hesitation, Din moved forward and placed a soft kiss to the middle of your chest. One hand came up to toy with one breast as his tongue trailed a cool path to the other. You moaned quietly at the pleasurable sensation, and arched your back into his ministrations. Din made his way down your trembling body, placing soft gasping kisses to your skin. Maneuvering himself further down, he laid out on his stomach and used his hands to open your thighs.

His tongue licked a long, wide strip through your cunt, and you keened with a burning ache. Din licked and kissed you dutifully, and as your hands came down to grasp his hair he groaned into you. You shifted your hips, following his movements. Din’s beautiful nose poked at your swollen clit, and he followed it with soft kitten licks and sucking kisses.

“Ah!” You could barely find your voice as you chased your release. “D-Din…!”

Another groan from the bounty hunter between your thighs. “I’ve been dreaming of you saying my name for months,” he breathed. “Come on my tongue, mesh’la.” He buried his face against you again, and you felt your orgasm start from the soles of your feet and build like fire up through the rest of your body.

Choking out his name again, you writhed against his vice grip on your thighs. Din flicked his tongue against your clit, and tears sprang to the corner of your vision. His careful work prolonged your release, and you cried out as he pulled a second pulse of pleasure from your shivering form.

He pulled away just before the pleasure turned to over-stimulation, and crawled back up your body. You pulled his mouth to yours, tongue dancing against his own. You could taste yourself on him, and your cunt throbbed with increasing desire.

One of his knees knocked your leg to the side, and he settled his hips against yours. You could feel his cock through his linen pants, twitching as you ground up against him. Grabbing the hem of his shirt, you yanked until he helped pull it off. Your hands then found their way to his chest, and you scratched your nails down his form. He growled at the sensation, and deepened his kiss as you palmed his heavy cock through his pants.

“You’re overdressed,” you mused against his mouth as your hand slipped under the waistband to grasp his throbbing member. Nipping your bottom lip, Din hurriedly slipped his trousers the rest of the way off his body, and you sighed in the satisfaction of his bare body against your own. Between the two of you his cock wept and settled heavily across your abdomen. Din reached down to cup your bottom, moving one of your thighs further to the side and began to shift his hips to your center.

You watched as his cock pressed up against you – Maker, he was so big it still made you ache. He grunted as you wrapped one leg up against his side, and pushed in to the hilt. Even with his earlier work, your smaller form still needed several heartbeats to adjust.

He held himself there, and dipped his head down again to capture your lips. You moaned against him, relishing in the way he filled you. It felt like he reached up into your throat, and your thighs trembled with the effort of willing yourself still.

“You’re perfect,” Mando crooned. “Sky and stars, you are so perfect. You take me so well, cyar’ika.” With great effort, he began to move, and you cried out as your tight cunt was pulled along with him.

“G-goddess, Din,” you gasped. The sound of your bodies moving was firm and reverent against the silent desert night. The candles made the shadows dance along the ceiling above you, and you were mesmerized by how different this joining was in comparison to all the previous times.

Din must have had the same thought, and he gripped your thigh almost painfully. “You are so good,” he moaned. “Fuck, you are so good. You were made for me, for this,” he said possessively.

Closing your eyes, you arched your neck and he followed by sucking the thin skin there between his teeth. Your hands scrambled to find purchase at his hips, desperate to feel him even deeper. You could feel your release building again, this time driven by the sensation of being so full of him you weren’t sure where you ended and he began.

“F-fuck,” you gasped. “You’re so deep, Din, you’re so deep.“

He answered by slamming his hips up against you. You wailed at the force, knowing that the ache you would feel later would be worth it. He grabbed your thighs to wrap your legs around his waist, and continued his claiming of your body.

“I’m going to fill you,” he groaned. “Fill your womb with my seed. Do you want that? Do you want my cum inside you?”

You nodded deliriously. “Yes yes yes Din, cum in me, I nee-I need it-“

“Yeah?” He panted. He stared into your eyes, nose hovering just over your own. “You need to feel me fill you up? Make you mine?”

“A-already yours,” you choked out. He keened at that, and you felt his hips begin to falter.

“Say it,” he commanded. “Tell me what you need me to do.” Your nails clenched his side, and the faint pain seemed to give him a second wind. You were on the verge of cumming.

“S-stars, Din-“

“Say it.”

Crying out, you reached one hand down to grasp his thigh as he squished up against you. He was barely pulling out at that point, his hips flush to your own as he stabbed jerkily up into you.

“Cum in me,” you begged. “Cum in me, fill me, I need you-“

Your orgasm washed over you with a white-hot intensity that made your vision go blank. The feeling of your spasms wrung the same from Din, and he thrusted once more before burying himself as deep as he could go, semen surging into your body.

“I love you,” he groaned lowly. “Fuck, I love you.”

Hours later, the two of you laid sleepily together in the bed, the thin blankets draped over your still-nude forms. Your head rested on his chest, and he stroked your side absentmindedly. After your passionate love-making, you both had cleaned up a bit and returned to the bed to bask in the afterglow and each other’s wholly bare presence.

“What are you thinking?” Din asked, voice low from exertion and on the edge of sleep. You hummed at the feeling of how his chest vibrated, and you lifted your head to look at him.

How could you put in to words what you were thinking? A year ago you were a busy scholar who cared about little else but your research. Now there you were, held by a Mandalorian bounty hunter who you had traveled across the galaxy with, unraveling long-lost secrets. A man who had saved your life on many occasions, who both exasperated and delighted you at every turn, and who you were certain you wanted to spend the rest of your life with.

Smiling, you laid a gentle kiss to his chest. “Just thinking,” you murmured. “You said ‘I love you’.”

Din blinked slowly at you, fingers tracing imperceptible patterns along the curve of your hip. “I do,” he said simply after a few beats of silence. “I have for a long time,” he added. “Is that-do you…?

Closing your eyes, you sighed against him. “Yes,” you breathed. “I don’t know when or why or how, but I do too.”

Din pulled you up closer to him, so that your chest pressed up against his own, and caught your lips in a slow, passionate kiss. You hummed happily into it, fingers dancing delicately over his collarbone.

“Good.”

#din djarin x reader #din djarin smut #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian smut #mando x reader #reader insert #the mandalorian #star wars

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astarionslittlejuicebox · 5 months

Text

The Promise of Eternity (Part 14)

Author: @astarionslittlejuicebox

Imagine: The reader helped Astarion ascend and became his spawn. After saving the world from the Elder brain and it’s destruction, the reader and Astarion set out to take on the world together. While he promised to never forget the gifts the reader has given him, Astarion has seemed to have changed his attitude towards the reader in the last century…. After someone breaks one of Astarion’s rules, how will this affect the reader’s fate?

Pairing: Astarion x F!Reader

Trigger warnings: potential for minor spoilers, suggestive themes, language, mentions of death, mentions of blood, abusive relationship, mention of slavery, mentions of murder

Word Count: 1506

Imagine Series

Side Notes:

This imagine series takes place 200 years after the events of Baldur’s Gate 3. Everything you read in here is a story from my mind outside of the original BG3 character Astarion.

In this imagine series, Astarion is a bit more unemotionally unavailable, and this series will follow the decisions and consequences of that change. This is not canonically accepted and it is just an idea I’ve had in my head! (I do believe Astarion might truly care for the reader after Ascension, but that is open to individual interpretation.)

In this series, TAV is mildly based on my first character I played in BG3; she is a drow and I will make references to her in her background and knowledge as well. I do apologize that it is not 100% your own imagine, but the name for TAV is up to you as well as anything else that I can think of leaving to you, the reader, to decide.

I appreciate everyone who reads the imagines and this series, and I hope you enjoy the story!

TAV POV

I awoke with a jolt at the sound of several knocks on Astarion’s door. He chuckled as his arms pulled me back to him.

“Whomever it is, they can wait.” He whispered into my ear. “If it’s the fucking tiefling, she will get the message.” Another knock sounded at the door, but more urgent than the one before.

“She’ll get curious if you don’t answer.” I whispered to him as I nudged him with my nose. “You could drink the antidote and play some games with her.”

“What about you?” He hummed. “What will you do?” I smiled at him.

“Oh I’ll be here, enjoying the show, hidden from sight.” Astarion raised an eyebrow as I sat up then walked across the room to give him the antidote from my satchel. He drank the contents of the bottle before he gave it back to me. “Old habits from Cazador die hard, don’t they?” I gave a small chuckle.

“But this time you’re fully in control.” I gave him a wink and a kiss before turning myself invisible. Astarion bore a sly smile before he threw a robe over his naked body and answered the door. The tiefling had her hand posed to knock again.

“There you are! I was beginning to worry that something had happened to you!” Her nasal voice made the eyeballs in my head roll within their sockets while Astarion gave her the fakest smile I’ve seen from him in centuries.

“I was merely still dreaming sweet dreams about you, dearest.” The pale elf did his best to hide the malice in his voice as he called her the pet name, and I almost missed it. The tiefling looked none-the-wiser as she stepped into the room. A panicked thought crossed my mind as I glanced over to see my dress still in a pile on the bathroom floor. I quietly rushed into the bathroom and slid my dress out of view from the doorway and quietly threw it into the bottom of the laundry hamper. If they think I’m gone, then I need to not leave evidence that I’m here. When I returned to the doorway, the tiefling had her arms wrapped around Astarion’s neck, and I felt my blood boil with anger. Keeping my cool, I stalked over to stand behind her. My hands itched to wrap themselves around her delicate neck as my fangs begged to be buried in her neck.

Two hundred years of habits from Cazador make it easy. Astarion’s words echoed in my ears. Fake a smile, play the part, and everything is fine. I put my tongue between my teeth as he kissed her lips in what appeared to any spectator to be a passionate kiss. A thought occurred to me at this moment: why did the fae stick around for a century? Her clawed fingers dug into his curls, and I tried my best not to let my jealousy rear its ugly head and choke her with the cord that conveniently held the nearby drapes in place. As they kissed passionately, I caught a glimpse of the chef passing by in the hallway, who had stopped to look upon the scene in the bedroom.

Someone forgot to shut the door. I thought to myself as a look of anger and jealousy flashed briefly on the elf’s face. I studied the elf in curiosity as I reflected on the betrayal he was committing against Hiedra. She had believed him to be making a permanent charming potion, but he was secretly making a potent poison to kill the vampire lord himself to avenge his daughter. I felt my lips curl upwards in amusement of it all, and the chef left to continue his path to wherever he was going. Noticing that things were getting heated between Astarion and the tiefling, I took it upon myself to follow the chef.

I was only aware of the lack of clothes on me as the chilled air of the halls raised goosebumps on my skin—something that hadn’t happened in over two hundred years. Shaking away the appreciation of becoming an ascended vampire, I focused on the mutterings coming from the chef.

“I am only toying with him.” He said in a high-pitched, mocking tone. “Once he’s under our control I will never have to do those things with him again.” I fought the urge to laugh as it seemed the chef was highly bothered by the behaviors of the fae.

It seems that not everyone’s partners are as tolerant of the situation as others are. I thought to myself as I followed him into the kitchen.

“We shall see how she reacts when the vampire drops dead after his morning glass of wine.” He sinisterly spoke as he walked over to the counter in the middle of the large room. A fire roared in the fireplace on the far back wall with a black cauldron cooking a heavenly smelling dish. I recognized the bottle sitting on the black marble surface as the bottle from the chest in the chef’s room—the one I had determined to be poison. Ahriman paused to look up at the ceiling. “Then we will finally have our revenge, Maryanna.” The elf then turned his attention to continue preparing breakfast, and I slipped away without a sound. Rushing to my room, the invisibility spell fell as I closed the door to my bedchambers. I looked around the room as the place had appeared to be ransacked: books and clothes scattered haphazardly on the floor. Several of my decorations had been discarded and broken on the floor, and my chest at the bottom of the bed had been left open.

I rolled my eyes as I carefully stepped over the items on the floor and made my way into the closet, where more of my clothes were thrown about. I picked up a tight-fitting black shirt and black leather pants before dressing myself. Deciding to wear soft-soled leather shoes, I covered my feet before I heard the bedchamber door open. My eyes widened as I quietly uttered the words for the invisibility spell and peered from behind the wall of the doorway.

Astarion stood in the doorway with a scrutinizing lookas he took in the scene in my bedchambers. I watched his crimson eyes absorb every piece of broken decor and every fabric thrown upon the floor with a slight frown before the tiefling appeared in the doorway behind him. His crimson eyes flashed with anger as he took in the violation of my space, but the tiefling stepped inside the room.

“In her hurry to leave, I think she forgot something of high importance….” The nasal voice trailed off as she approached the bed and picked up a vial of red liquid for Astarion to see. “It appears that your beloved spawn has broken one of your rules.” I felt the blood boil within my veins as I witnessed the fae trying to frame me for the blood stolen from Astarion. I studied the vampire as pure anger showed on his face as he took the vial from her clawed hand. “I shall let you process this. Once you are ready, I’ll see you at breakfast.” She tried to place a kiss upon his cheek, but he pulled away from her. Without any more words, the tiefling left the room.

I felt the once undead organ in my chest beat rapidly in anger as I stepped into the doorway of the closet and dropped my concentration on the spell. A look of pure anger must’ve been on my face because Astarion’s face softened once he noticed my presence.

“Please tell me that I will have the luxury of taking her life.” I growled quietly. “I will admit the plan was well thought out to pin the blood on me, but they must have mistaken you for a fool.” Astarion quietly walked over to me and gave me a sinister smile.

“They have no idea who they are messing with.” He whispered as his fingers interlaced with mine.

“Speaking of, the chef plans to serve you the poison this morning with breakfast.” I watched a fire of anger flare within the crimson orbs staring at me. “I plan to switch your wine glass with hers.” The fingers of my other hand walked up Astarion’s chest. “Once she is taken care of, I will thoroughly enjoy watching you punish the chef for his misdeeds.” I purred into the pointed ear of my lover, whose arm gripped me closer to him. “With those two gone, perhaps we shall begin our plans to rule Baldur’s Gate, so no one shall threaten us again?” Sparkling eyes of amusement met mine as he gave me a breathtaking smile.

“My, my, who would’ve thought turning you into a true vampire would be such a turn on.” His voice was full of admiration. “And how much more fun our lives would be.” We shared a knowing smirk between us.

“Let’s go take care of these vermin.”

#astarion imagine #astarion x reader #baldursgate3 #baldursgate3imagine #ascended astarion #the promise of eternity

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applesontheground · 2 years

Text

no need to brave it all alone 🐖

I’ll be there.

here’s a backlog project i finally decided to tie up! idk why i didn’t finish this, maybe it’s because it’s very similar to a tommy one-shot i wrote, but hey, take the bubba version of that because i can never get enough of either of them!! ♡

SFW | Word Count: 1,783 | Bubba Sawyer x GN Reader

contains canon typical/blood+chainsaw violence, reader getting threatened with a gun, hints at kidnapping/Stockholm Syndrome

“I’m gonna ask you one more time ‘bout what the hell is going on around here…”

The mouth of the woman’s handgun had set between your eyes before you even processed the sound of it loading, let alone what she had said. You instinctively jerked back but it followed, a sickly heat beginning to creep from your stomach and up your body. You stared far into the beyond for a long pause, doing your best to not let your breathing audibly pick up. Finally, your eyes slid up to her and you frowned hard as the words came slow and dry.

“I…I don’t know-”

“Don’t.” The lip had been pressed delicately at first, but at the beginnings of your denial it started to dig into the skin of your forehead. You allowed her to push you back against the chair that she had made you sit in, your entire form shuddering to the rush of nerves that now strained under the cold metal.

Your face twitched into a grimace, swallowing the urge to beg as she spat, “You damn well know ‘what the hell’. You know,” She went on, her hand beginning to shake slightly as she spoke, “Either you’re the one killing all of us with the chainsaw, or you know who’s doin’ it.”

Holding your deep inhale, your eyes fell to the spatters of blood over the hem of your shirt, seeped into the lap of your pants and mingling onto your palms where you had set them. It looked awful, but she hadn’t seen you do anything – save for catch the body that had exerted all this onto you while falling at your feet. Your hands weren’t clean, but your actions had been as far as things were concerned. Still, she was afraid, she had a gun, and she had made you sit in the damn chair until she could figure out what was going on. The only noise in the room, the quaint lobby of the gas station, was the firepit burning in the corner.

“I told you. He just f-fell on me after running in here, cursing up a storm.” Your eyes shot to the corpse under the table, a couple feet away from the toe of your boot. “I have no goddamn clue who did that to him.” You stammered, jaw locking and making it hard to speak clearly as you stared at her from behind the barrel of the pistol. She frowned hard at you, eyes trying to break your expression with the sheer weight of a heavy brow and the way she occasionally nudged against your head.

“I know the [man/woman/type] who’s in charge when I see [him/her/’em].” She suddenly muttered, and you sighed shakily because that was so far from the truth.

When people came through and unknowingly stayed past their welcome, they often ran into the Sawyers before they did you. There were enough proxies to keep you from even catching a glimpse of strangers unless you were helping the oldest of the clan, Drayton, down at the station – like you had been today. The pattern was simple. He stayed here, greeting people, offering service, and then sending them on their way. They usually kept to their own, didn’t explore unless they were really squirrely.

God forbid they find their way down to the house, but if they did, they’d run into the youngest. Then, between here and there, the twin middle kids were either palling around at the local graveyard or doing anything to get away from it. You didn’t blame them, knowing there was nothing around besides acres of dry farmland and large fauna that felt as though it bubbled you in, but you also knew better than to ever accompany them. They were good at raising hell with whatever they decided to get in the middle of – including their own home. If Drayton was yelling, it was usually at them. You were always positioned to be somewhere in between the four brothers since being roped in; you were either down at the house or up at the station, and becoming optimized to figure out the work that they needed you for was what got you as far as you did without being maimed.

After Drayton observed that you were rather charismatic, good at making people feel noticed, you found yourself here more often than not. He was not the one you considered yourself the closest with despite spending a decent amount of time with him. It was difficult, even infuriating to a conversation with him unless you were flattering and ready to bend to the will of his opinion and direction. You knew it was best to do what you were told while you were still breathing, so you tolerated his unrestrained insults and harsh tone.

There was only one of them that you’d get close to consider someone you trusted, even if it wasn’t a strong bridge under your feet. When it came to the youngest of the Sawyers, it hadn’t been hard to confuse him when you had first encountered each other. He still got you cornered, and despite the terror that had gripped you by the shoulders and kept your eyes blown open, something in you that wanted to believe in humanity had promptly extended the only hand that you could offer: your physical one, daring to graze the hammer he had been ready to bring down on you. It never hit you; only the weight of his stare, first in stunned shock then in a meek enamoration. You had been prepared for the strange bond between you and him to break just as soon as it had formed – but then again, that had to have been a few months ago at this point.

You don’t know what had actually stopped the business end of that mallet from bashing your brains through your nose, and whose decision it was for it not to happen between then and now. You had felt you’d done well with managing not to get what most people did at the hands of the brothers, but you also supposed it didn’t matter while you were looking to the gun again, trying to see it settled between your eyebrows and letting another nervous shudder out.

You would’ve died out here one way or another, joining the miscellaneous bodies strewn about in elaborate art projects, but there was a strange stroke of irony to realize it wasn’t going to be from the Sawyers.

A creak from outside made your eyes carefully dart towards the back door, but then back to the woman as she spat, “I’on’t have all night now, are you going to help me or not?” You cleared your throat, but kept your voice steady as you asked, “What do you mean by ‘help’?”

“Get me the hell out of here.” Her voice had caved to something more frightened, the pistol once again tapping your skull and making everything echo in the panicking recesses of your mind. “I’m not planning on telling anyone, seeing how close you were to getting me with that damn saw I’ve been hearing all night!”

You took in a deep breath again, another creak coming through the back of your mind while you murmured steadily, “Listen. I’m not the one running around with the chainsaw.”

Her finger settled against the trigger. “I’m not gonna take tha-“

“He is.”

Your eyes once again fell to the back door of the gas station, gritting your teeth as you had picked up on the idle motor that sat with the other miscellaneous noises. She had fallen into an intense tunnel vision, so it had all gone over her head. Her ears were probably already ringing, and with her sights made for nothing but you in that moment she hadn’t felt the looming shadow had been dancing over the screen either, obscure but recognizable to you when your peripherals had noticed them.

On some sort of cue, the motor roared to life, an absolutely splitting noise as the hunk of metal restlessly twisted through the screen window and began dragging downwards, sinking into the wood. It still scared the shit out of you despite the fact that you had seen him do it so many times before, legs hopping up to attempt to press into your chest as your hands gripped the seat of the chair.

You could only imagine how she felt. The gun was taken off your head as the lumbering figure suddenly busted through, but she had made the mistake to still hold it pointed at you. That was all he needed to see. Your breath got caught in your throat as the blade of the chainsaw was swinging inches away from your body in seconds, making both of you scream.

It happened in the span of a few seconds, and just when you were certain you were about to get clipped by the rumble of the blade, the cut of the ferocious shaking of the chain, it was over. She was probably in five different spots, but you tried not to stare. Instead, your vision caught his heaving shoulders, the noise finally falling back to that idle purr.

Your mouth hung open, gripping your knees for dear life as you glanced back and forth between him and the mess on the floor for another breath. When he turned, you choked out in a shallow voice, “You know, Bubba, you could’ve just opened the door.”

He blinked, eyes locking onto you, but finally let out a mutter of frustration and slammed the chainsaw on the counter. In a heartbeat, he was stooping to your level, hands on the sides of your neck and feeling for any tender spots or cuts. Your eyes fluttered as you felt the blood smearing on your skin, touching the backs of his weathered hands.

“Hey,” With a soft voice, you assured him, “She didn’t hurt me. I’m okay.” Catching your breath, relief was washing over now, especially with no one except you two in the room. His eyes caught onto the spot between your brow, and you explained, “She just wasn’t shy with that gun, is all.”

You gasped as he lunged into your stomach, lifting you out of the chair and over his shoulder. The shift of movement, your legs being unburdened coupled with the way his shoulder blade impaled your chest, made you laugh slightly. You caught a mumble under his breath, and quickly argued with him, “Hey, don’t give me that. I would’ve handled it.”

He made a noise akin to a scoff. You sighed back, but then once again felt yourself grin in an ill relief.

Handled you, didn’t I?

#bubba sawyer x reader #leatherface x reader #slasher x reader #slasher fanfiction #✏️#🐖#can you tell i just want him to throw me around like a sack of potatoes with that last part? lol

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dre6ming · 4 months

Text

Christmas tree shopping

The delicate beginning rush

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Austin Butler x singer/actress fem reader

Warnings: smut, sex, explicit content, mentions of blood, crying, bad family relationships, fluff

Word count: ~3000

Plot: Christmas tree shopping puts a small dent into your heart considering the past, so when Austin asks that you do it together, you have some holdbacks.

I love Christmas! And that's that. I've always loved it, ever since I could understand the concept of it. I adore the buzz of the crowd searching for gifts, the smell of Christmas foods, the decorations, the songs, the movies. I mean you'd have to have a big lump of coal for a heart to not like Christmas. But with all my love for this time of the year, this year I'm just not feeling it.

As I walk the crowed streets of New York all on my own, with my big fluffy scarf covering most of my face, I look around at the stores wondering where I could go next, dreading going home, where Austin waits for me so we can go Christmas tree shopping. When he proposed the idea that we go together, I just nodded and smiled, but in my heart a big hole was being uncovered. I used to go Christmas tree shopping with my dad, some of my favorite memories with him, are of us choosing a tree, setting it up in the living room and decorating it together. Those were some of the best hours in the whole year. But then the divorce happened right before Christmas, no one bought a Christmas tree, I didn't even bother decorating that year, I stayed over at Timmy's house, then the year after that, was mine and Austin's first Christmas together, but he was with his family and I went again to Timmy's house.

This year though, he wants us to have a Christmas together together. He suggested that we spend it over at his LA home, but Christmas is supposed to be cold and wet and snowy, not sunny and hot, so we are going to have a small party at my apartment on the 25th, until then he wants all the Christmas stuff to be done. Which I'm more than happy to do, but I was hoping we'd get a fake tree from Amazon or something.

I feel my phone vibrate in the pocket of my coat and I know I can't ignore him, or he will get worried, so I sigh, taking the phone out and answering the call. "Hi, Aus! I'm still looking at a few shops, they've got really nice things out here, I bought some stuff." I lie, having not bought even a single thing. "Don't worry darling, I was just checking in, what do you say, I come get you with the car and then we go to the Christmas tree market?" He asks so sweetly, it hurts my heart. "Um actually I don't know, I don't think I'm gonna be much longer, so just wait for me back at the apartment." I hate the anticipation of the disappointment in his voice. "That's fine Y/n, just be safe, I love you!" I close my eyes and rub my temple with my free hand, feeling a headache creep it's way to me. "Love you too!" I cut the call short and keep walking, smiling as I spot the rusty old sign from Frank's record store.

As I enter the smell of cinnamon and chocolate, hits me, soft jazz playing in the background. The store looks empty today, except for Frank, sitting behind the counter, reading a book. As the door bell rings he looks up from his book and smiles at me, getting up to come hug me. "Hey kid, haven't seen you in a hot minute. Though I've heard plenty of you. I never knew fruitcake makes you sick" he laughs, referencing my latest album, a Christmas ep called fruitcake. "Very funny!" I giggle, unwrapping the scarf from my neck and undoing some of the buttons on my coat.

"Well I've been busy, but I'm home for the holidays." I say, looking around, skimming through some of the new records he has in store. "Hm I bet you're busy, touring arenas and all. Hey kid look what I have here." Frank says as he goes to the back and brings out a mysterious vinyl. "It's a first edition. A mix done on vinyl in the 90's, all your favorites are on here." He explains, replacing the vinyl he had one with the new one he brought. "Last Christmas I have you my heart.." the song starts playing and I start singing along.

"Want some hot cocoa?" Frank asks, putting the closed sign on the door, as I take of my coat to be a bit more comfortable. "Of course I want some, extra-" "-Whipping cream, I know" he finishes my sentence, making both of us laugh. As Frank goes to make the hot cocoa, I take my phone out and text Austin.

Hey, something came up, I'm over at Roxy's place. Can we reschedule?

Austin

Sure, hope everything is alright. Love you 💜🧶

Ofc, love you too

I hate lying to him, but I just don't feel like having a therapy session right now. "Hmm perfect!" I smile taking the cup from Frank and drinking some of the delicious hot beverage. "So any big plans for Christmas this year?" He asks, and I start telling him all about the dinner me and Austin are hosting for friends and family.

Before I knew it I had spent a few good hours over at Frank's store and then I had to call Matt to come get me with the car and drive me back home, as it had gone dark outside. So now I'm in the elevator, watching the buttons of each floor light up, until we get to number 10. I walk in and the whole place is quiet, no sight of Austin or any cats, so I guess that he must be sleeping. Tiptoeing to my room I find Austin sleeping on the bed with Simba and William cuddled up to him. Walking into the closet I try to make as little sound as possible and I start to take off my clothes.

I feel a pair of arms wrap around me and I let out a small scream, startled for a moment. "Shh it's me" Austin whispers against my ear, kissing down my neck, I lean into him and reach my hand back, to comb through his thick hair. "It's ok.." I moan as he sucks the skin right above my collarbone. His hands travel down my abdomen and unbutton my jeans, his right hand sliding down between my legs, into my underwear. "Austin.." I sigh, putting all my weight on him. "Shh, don't talk." Austin says

He's skilled fingers work me like magic, his left arm tight around my waist holding me up, as he plugs a finger into me. I gasp, fisting his hair, as he moves slowly inside me. "Shh no talking." He repeats, after I try to moan his name again. This is something we've never done before, he usually likes me talking during sex, and he encourages me to be vocal, but this time he wants me to be quiet.

I'm lost in my train of thought and don't realize the moment he pulls his hand away and picks me up, taking me to the bed. "Aus?" I ask concerned as he removes my jeans but not my panties. He looks at me, but there's no tenderness like before, he looks mad? "No talking." Is all he says, as he takes off his clothes and puts on a condom, getting on top of me. "Aus baby, is something wrong?" I ask touching his face. A faint smile crosses his face and a glimmer of something sweet shows up in his eyes. My heart beats at a thousand miles per hour and I'm aroused as ever, but something is off.

"Nothings wrong, I just want to feel you." He says, kissing me, his hands going back to their ministrations. We move in sink and I reach behind me to unclasp my bra. Austin's hands go immediately to my breasts, kneading and pinching my nipples. "Fuck!" He grunts as I sneak my hand down and pump his cock, touching his tip to my covered pussy, wishing right now there was no thin layer of cotton between us.

"Please!" I beg as his head nudges at my wet pussy, brushing against my clit, sending electric shocks up my spine. "Fucking hell!" Austin curses, guiding his hand between us, to push my panties to the side, quickly sliding into me. I wince in pain, as he usually takes his time opening me up, but this time he seems to be in a hurry. His lips find mine and he swallows my whimpers. When he's all the way in, he stills and waits for me to give him the ok to move. After a few moments of sitting like this conjoined, with my legs around his waist, my hand in his hair and his around my waist, something changes, something in him, he starts feeling warm and soft, unlike the cold stiff feeling he was giving me before, it's like he melts into me.

His hands moves up my body, wrapping tightly around me. "I'm sorry!" He says in a broken voice. "It's ok, doesn't hurt anymore, please move." I say caressing his cheek, encouraging him to pull his hips back. When his pelvis meets mine again, fireworks sparkle behind my closed eyelids. Austin starts a slow pace, each time going deeper and deeper if that were possible. The room is filled my muffled moans and skin slapping noises, as both of us feel closer and closer to the sweet release. "Shit Austin, I need more, please!" I beg arching my back to give him a new angle.

Austin groans in my ear and picks up the pace, placing one hand behind my head on the pillow and the other on my clit, rubbing slow circles. "I love you! I love you so much!" I say, feeling closer to my orgasm, my walls spasm around hid twitching cock. "Fuck!" His voice sound strangled and he moves faster, sloppier. "I love you I love you Iloveyou!" I say over and over again and over again. He keeps his moves fast and rhythmic, I curl my toes and pull on his hair, my orgasm wrecking through my body, tingling head to toe. Austin keeps moving until I feel him tens and he cums moaning into my shoulder.

We sit a few minutes tangled together, breathing in sink, his heart thudding against my chest. The without a word, Austin pulls out, leaving me empty, getting up and going to the bathroom. I'm left staring at the ceiling, wondering what this whole experience was just weird. I sit up in bed and wrap myself in my fluffy robe, getting up, going to the kitchen to drink some water.

I keep thinking what just happened, I can't imagine what must have happened to make Austin act like this. It's not that the sex didn't feel good, it did, but it felt like he was somewhere else, or at lest trying to be somewhere else. "Are you hungry ?" I jump at Austin's voice, dropping the glass of water on the floor. Without thinking I try to reach for the broom, to clean this up, but I step on a shard of glass. "Aw, fuck fuck!" I let out, holding onto the counter, lifting my leg up to see if the cut is bad. It's only a small shard, so the cut is barely a graze, but blood is already coming out of it. "Don't move!" Austin warns, walking around the broken glass and water, coming next to me. He puts both hands on my waist and lifts me up on the counter, the going to clean the mess I made.

We sit in silence, as he cleans and I feel the blood dripping down my foot. When he's done, he goes away and I start thinking if he just left me here, which I know is stupid, but my brain can't stop making weird scenarios up. "Show me your leg!" Austin says, kneeling down in front of me, cleaning my wound and putting a bandage over it. "All done!"

"Are you mad at me?" I ask at the same time as he speaks and he blushes, looking the other way, avoiding my eyes. "Where were you today?" He asks and as I open my mouth to answer he interrupts me. "Don't lie, Roxy came over, thinking you were here." I sigh and jump off from the counter, ignoring the pain in my leg. I wobble a little bit, despite my best effort, so Austin puts his hands up around me, ready to catch me if anything were to happen. I look him up and down, thinking about what I could say, I could just tell him the truth, but I haven't really told him much about mine and my dad's relationship. He waits patiently for me to answer and the way his arms are still around me, like waiting for a hug, makes me want to melt right into him, but I choose the childish part of me, pushing him away and walking past him.

"Did something happen?" His voice sounds like an echo and for a moment I feel like he didn't even speak and it was all my imagination. I turn around slowly, looking at his face, his eyes are read, teary. "Aus-"

"I know you weren't at Roxy's place, you didn't answer your phone, you were out shopping all day and yet, came back with no bags or nothing." Austin's hands are shaking, so I walk up to him slowly, taking his hands in mine, but he takes a step back, pulling away, which breaks my heart. "Can we sit down? I can explain everything." He shakes his head and I close my eyes taking a deep breath, preparing for the things I'm about to say.

"I was at Franks store, I did go out to buy somethings, but my head was somewhere else so I didn't get anything, just walked around." I start saying and he fiddles around with his hands. "Why?"

"I wanted to go Christmas tree shopping, but it just it hurt to much. I haven't gone shopping with anyone other than my dad, it was our thing, but I'm no longer a part of his life and it's, it's like slowly learning how to breathe again." His face saddens more, but this time, the sadness is pointed my way, and I appreciate his empathy, but I'd like if he'd stop. "I'm sorry I really am, it's just been hard on me to.." my voice breaks down and I lick my lips, tasting the salt of my tears.

Austin closes the distance between and hugs me tight. "You should have told me, I'm sorry, we don't have to go if you don't feel like it, baby" he says rubbing my back, holding me close to him. "I think if you go with me , I could do it. " he chuckles, kissing the top of my head and we stand hugging for a moment.

"Aus?" I ask softly something still on my mind. "Yeah?" "Is something wrong, you felt a little cold, you know, earlier." I feel him stiffen a bit, so I wiggle out of his arms to look up at him. "Well I was worried about you and my sister told me that she and the kids are down with some virus and can’t make it to Christmas, so I was just filled to the brim with worry." I smile at him, touching his hair lightly, placing some flyaway hairs back. "Oh my baby, want some hot cocoa? And how about we bake something?" I say, walking back to the kitchen counter and getting things ready for a feel better night. "Your butter cookies? With orange?" He asks puppy eyed, making me giggle. "Well I did just buy some oranges yesterday, so why even ask?" I say putting milk on the stove to warm up and already measuring the right amount of flour and sugar.

Between finishing the hot cocoa and adding the flour to the dough, someone decided to start a fight with flour, so we're now laughing, picking flour from our hair, as the cookies rise. "You're such a child." I chuckle, wiping his nose. "I just couldn't help myself" he shrugs, smirking at me.

The next morning we wake up as late as we can and now we're enjoying a shower together. His hands wash my skin tenderly, massaging all the stiff spots. "I don't think I'll ever get bored of washing your hair!" He admits, bubbling the shampoo between his hands, then applying it to my hair. "Well I'll never get bored of you washing my hair, so lucky for you!"

After what must have been the slowest start of day in months, we finally enter the Christmas tree market, hand in hand. Being here does feel weird without my dad, but not as bad as I thought. Austin squeezes my hand three times and that calms me a bit, so I take a deep breath, looking at all the trees. "Can we get a huge one?" I ask already having my eye on one. "I was thinking smaller, but whatever you want." He says, looking the opposite way the trees that are way too small for my liking. "How about two trees?" I suggest, smiling at him.

"Honey I don't think we'll fit in the elevator with this." Austin says, as he pull down the tree that's almost twice his height, from the roof of my heel. Driving around New York with this on top of the car was of course something out of a comedy. "So up the stairs?" I ask hoping he'd say "no"

"I think so." He sighs, looking with dread at the staircase door. "Ok then.." I say defeated, locking the car and getting ready to help him.

Around the 2nd floor it feels like I'm dying, we decided that best way was for me to go up pulling and him pushing form down. "I think we're going somewhere." I encourage, already cursing myself for not going to the gym enough. Austin laughs, form somewhere behind the tree branches. "Yeah the North Pole!" He jokes

On the 10th floor we stop at the door of the apartment, him in better shape than me, but still just as tired. "You have no idea how lucky you are I love you!" Austin says, kissing my cheek. "I love you too!"

"Is it straight?" Austin asks from under the tree, trying to place it in the tree stand. "A little to the left!" I instruct. "My left? Or your left?" He asks, out of breath. "Mine, ugh no, yours. I don't know, can you get out of from there?" I ask and he comes to sit next to me. The tree is still very much crooked, but I think I like it this way. "I think I like it this way!" Austin says, rubbing my back. I snuggle into his side and stand on my tippy toes to kiss him. "I think I agree!"

"I think I love you!" He says, picking me up and spinning me around. "Did you notice that you kinda picked a tree looking like me and I picked one looking like you?" Austin jokes again, but as I look at the two Christmas trees, now realizing that the very obvious height difference does resemble the one me and Austin have between us. "I think we just did the funniest thing." I admit, going to the boxes on the floor and taking an ornament out, placing it in the smaller tree Austin chose. "Merry Christmas, y/n! I love you!" Austin says, placing and ornament in the tree I picked. "Merry Christmas Austin, I love you too!"

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the-squid-ink · 7 months

Text

I love writing and drawing self indulgent Oc x Canon

WIP Writing below <3

Sitting in the dim, candlelit room. Tyria's golden eyes scanning over the words written before her. The book sitting neatly in her lap completely enthralling her. Allowing her mind to drift off to a foreign world, fuelling her imagination, distracting her so much that she failed to notice the silver haired presense in her room. Crimson eyes watching the small woman. How entertained she appeared to be with such a simple, mundane activity. Why entertain herself with something so.. lackluster. The vampire could almost be mistaken as jealous. But yet the purple haired human remained blissfully unaware of her lover's presence. Completely wrapped up in the fictional story. The perfect distraction from the harrwoing quests the two were forced to endure as of late.

Astarion decided he had watched her enough. Now making his presence known to her, simply by taking a seat next to her. The dip of the bed next to her caught her attention, her eyes snapped up from the book. A brief moment of panic but thankfully it was just that, brief. As her eyes settled on his face. She smiled almost immediately. The book on her lap being quickly disregarded onto a nearby bedside table. "Astarion.. Hey.." his name rolled off of her tongue so sweetly, in such a genuinely loving way. The vampire chuckled softly "I was beginning to wonder if you'd even notice me at all." He remarked. Moving closer to her so he could wrap an arm delicately around her waist. Bringing her close to him.

Tyria responded within moments. Resting her head on his shoulder. A gentle sigh escaping her lips. She hadn't noticed just how much she missed feeling him close. So much so she had to vocalise her feelings. "I missed you.." she mumbled. Never in her life had she imagined that she would wind up with someone like Astarion but yet here she was, and she wouldn't change a thing. An amused hum escaped his lips. His head coming to rest on top of hers. Pressing his lips against her head. "I missed you as well.. my darling" he purred.

The duo were quiet after the small exchange. Nothing more to be said as they just enjoyed eachothers company. The occasional kiss being pressed to the nearest part of their partner. Soft brushing of hands over skin. Though it didnt remain like that for long. Astarion moving his kisses downward. From the top of her head, to her cheek, to her jaw, to her neck. Just this was enough to have red rushing to Tyria's face. The subtle increase of her heartrate not going unnoticed by her vampiric lover.

#astarion #bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #oc x canon #wip #astarion x oc #writing #will lead to smut lol

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lovelybarnes · 3 years

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scars- b. barnes

pairings: bucky barnes x reader warnings: heavy mentions of insecurity, focus on scars, injuries, blood, wounds, canon violence about: requested! (PK9) kissing scars, bruises, scratches, etc. + (PF26) person a wiping person b’s tears away a/n: thank you so much for requesting!! i hope this is what you wanted and that you liked it!!

[ @tylard-blog1 ]

you’re aware that everyone on the team has them; natasha romanoff, even steve rogers, with his unbreakable milk skin, and bruce banner, with the green that tinges the hue of his temples when a scar is made. they’re reminders of what you do, some symbols of the lives that you’ve saved-- and others the lives that you’ve taken.

yes, everyone has them, but that doesn’t make you like the ones that litter your own body very much. nor does it stop you from looking away from them when you catch a glimpse of the scars that peek out of the clothing you specifically choose to hide them away from the curious eyes of the public. it doesn’t stop the frustrated tears that ebb in your eyes when you run the tips of your fingers over the raised tissue.

sometimes you realize how unfair it is of you to hate the scars that splay on your collarbone, and the ones that run across your hips and thighs, when you press your lips against the ones on bucky’s shoulder, pleading for him to believe you when you say you think he’s beautiful. the thought lingers when you playfully roll your eyes at natasha on the rare moment when she narrows her eyes at the healed bullet wound that sits above her hip, genuine words assuring her she looks great no matter what slipping out of the same mouth that utters ugly words at the mirror. you ignore it even as it guilts you when you touch the scars on bruce’s arms with featherlight fingers, pressing that they don’t make him a monster, or any of the hideous words with which he describes himself.

you try to tell yourself the reassurances apply to you, too, because they’re true-- the scars don’t diminish the beauty of your smile, or the glow that you carry, and they shouldn’t hinder the upwards pull of your lips when you catch a glimpse of them in the mirror-- but even as you try to convince yourself of that, your eyes always flit away, hand positioning itself in front of the scars as you examine the way you’d love yourself without them.

you were never aware of the blue eyes that caught your moments of dislike for yourself, missing the bead of worry that embedded itself in the cerulean of bucky’s irises.

it was on a particularly bad day of yours that one of your relatively smaller missions was scheduled. listed underneath your name was bucky’s, although he was only on there because he had demanded you never to go on a mission to an active hydra base alone, even though he knew you could handle it; you didn’t mind, always enjoying the quiet moments you got on the quinjet with bucky-- and the pilot, usually clint or steve, who bit their tongue, unlike sam or tony.

it would’ve been fine on any other day, but your day hadn’t started on the best note. the scars underneath your clothing seemed to burn every time you moved in the way they had when you first received them. you had stared at them for far too long, wishing you had the super-healing of the asgardian gods or the super soldiers you surrounded yourself with, who would never get permanent scars from the things you had experienced. they felt especially ugly sitting on your skin, making you want to lay in bed all day, pretending they didn’t exist.

your mission cut off your day of wallowing in your bed, forcing you to shove on your suit and sit in the quinjet to arrive at the mission you could’ve easily handled by yourself had it been another day and you had felt any other way.

you were from the same black widow program natasha was from; you were probably impossibly better, more ruthless and uncaring because from the moment you were born, you had nothing to lose, no family to protect, no memories of a childhood--even a fake one-- to hang onto. your movements were always calculated and perfect, like they had been forced to be, and your emotions were never supposed to cloud your anything-- they never did, except for when you had the days that knocked you off your feet, just like these.

nevertheless, you were distracted in the base with bucky, although you shouldn’t have been, considering the delicate information you were handling. you flawlessly did the routine of knocking guards unconscious, ignoring the way a harsh heat flashed in your hip when bucky’s hand touched the place where one of your more brutal scars was. it felt nearly as if he could feel it under his fingers, even though it was a ridiculous thought considering the material of your tac suit.

it was still going relatively fine; you had recovered the usb file you had been assigned to secure, and most of the guards were dead, fallen in a trail that created a clear pathway for bucky to find you, usb drive clutched tightly in your hand as you bled out on the floor, a knife thrown next to the pool of blood quickly forming underneath you and the person who had done it lying dead a few feet away. your gun was in your other hand, one of its bullets embedded in the hydra agents’ chest. bucky could hear the strangled gurgles of breathing coming from the agent, but he paid no attention to him as he rushed to your side, eyebrows furrowing as his hands reached the stab wound. you hissed sharply when you felt the cold of his vibranium fingers meet the burning hot of the injury, pressing down hard as lightly as he could while he mumbled something into the comms you never used. you were suddenly gathered into his arms, cringing when you heard a scream you didn’t realize was yours until you felt bucky’s lips moving in reassuring sentences next to your ear, a string of apologies falling from his lips. you never let go of the drive, desperate to keep hold of something that connected you to the real world, not wanting to focus on your other alternative: it was irrelevant when compared to everything else, but through the blinding red of pain, the only thing you could focus on was obsessing over the fact that a new scar would inevitably heal in place of the stab wound-- one you knew you would survive because you’d survived a hell of a lot worse than it, but the next ugly thing to form in your abdomen might just make you never want to see yourself again.

warm tears rolled down your cheeks as bucky carried you back into the quinjet, one of your hands tiredly fisted at bucky’s shirt, trying your best to stay awake but ultimately failing from the loss of blood and will.

it’s stupid. you’re aware, but your first thought when you open your eyes again is how there is yet another scar that will form on your abdomen, making tears rush to your eyes in frustration because it was your fault it was there anyways. had you just paid attention-- just not concentrated so on the wretched things, a new one would not be forming right now. the collection of ugly tissue that littered your skin was already too large.

the frustration you felt overpowered the painful numbness that settled over the wound in your abdomen, making dried tears spring back to life and dribble down your apple cheeks, alerting your boyfriend of your state. “doll? what’s wrong?” he asks, and at the sign he’s there, listening to your whimpers and audible disdain, the dam breaks loose, your hands reaching up to your face and tugging at the gash.

bucky’s up on his feet, tender hands circling around your wrists to pull them back down, “y/n, what’s wrong, doll?” he repeats, gentle blue eyes scanning your tear-streaked face. you squeeze your eyes shut, another salty trail making its way onto the bow of your lips. bucky’s warm fingers wipe away the wetness, his fingertips light.

“baby, please tell me what hurts,” he begs, his vibranium hand making its way into yours. you shake your head, squeezing his cold fingers. “i hate them,” you mumble, feeling his palm cupping your jaw, “i hate them so much.”

“hate what, honey?” he questions gently, brows furrowing further when he sees your hand curling into a loose fist above the place where his hands have lovingly settled: right on your scars. “i’m sorry,” you cry quietly, nose scrunching up when his fingers trace over the tissue he’s memorized the location of, “i hate them. they’re ugly and i hate them.”

“these?” bucky inquires, surprised. he lifts your shirt-- really, his-- to see the object of your tears, catching when you shut your eyes again and more tears drip off your jaw.

“bucky, no--”

bucky looks up at you, pressing a kiss to your forehead, “y/n…” he starts sadly, pulling away to get you to look at him. “they’re not... “ his eyes flick down to one of the scars, and he taps on it gently, “d’you remember this one? it was a couple years ago when i barely joined the team.” you can feel a lump growing in your throat, perfectly able to recall where you got it.

“you barely knew me back then, but you did know i was a super soldier, and you jumped in front of that bullet anyways. god, i knew i had to ask you out before someone knocked sense into anyone else.”

you sniffle, biting your lip, “this one,” he touches another one, “you saved nat and a little girl from a madman. her parents were so thankful they stayed with you until you woke up to thank you.” his finger wipes away another tear, “she invited me to her birthday party this year,” you snivel, and bucky smiles.

“these are not ugly-- you are not ugly, i promise.” he tells you. “i love you, every part of you--” his head suddenly ducks down, and you can feel his lips softly pressing against the scars, careful to avoid your newly forming one. your hand reaches his jaw, running your nail along his stubble as more thankful tears slip from your eyes. “i love you,” he repeats, kissing your lips.

“thank you,” you whisper against his lips, sniffling as you feel the burn on the scars slowly begin to disappear with the coolness of bucky’s vibranium fingertips.

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meowzfordayz · 2 years

Text

in every life (this heart of mine belongs to you)

Author’s Note: Polar Plunge link (here) — obvi no pressure to donate !! And for any curious folks: yes, author aka me donated.

in every life (this heart of mine belongs to you)

Rengoku Kyojuro x Reader

Word Count: ~2,000

CW: canonical violence, explicit language, mild sexual content

Request Fulfilled: Hi, sweetheart!💖 Can I request a fem!reader x Kyojuro (yes, I'll always ask for him) where it's a reencarnation universe where the reader and Kyojuro met in the other life when they were demon slayers and they had a love story, but never happened to be something official for the events of Mugen Train.

The scenario begins where the reader see for the first time Kyojuro's chest mark, and when she touch it she started to cry hard and hyperventilating for "unknown" reason. So, she couldn't avoid to hugging him to calm her nerves, but she can't stop crying and feeling between sad and relieved at the same time

~faqs~

“Kyojuro…” an ache clogs your throat, “Is this… is this from, from t-this, life?”

Your fingers touch—light, delicate, fragile—along the thick scarring off centered on his chest. The ache in your throat drops, balancing on the tops of your lungs, pain radiating from your collarbones through your sternum.

“[y/n]?” his voice is anxious, foggy, distant, “[y/n]!” so loud “Hey, hey, hey- Stay with me.”

Hands grip your shoulders — tightly, protectively. You blink, suddenly aware of just how loudly you’re breathing, fingers clutching at his skin. Unfocused. Completely off guard. Are my eyes wet?

“Do you have a medical condition I am unaware of?” he asks firmly.

You manage a shake of your head.

“Did you eat today?”

You manage a nod.

“Drink?”

You manage another nod.

“Sleep okay?”

A delirious giggle drags itself from your mouth.

“You are worrying me, [y/n],” the furrow between his brows lessens — only a smidgen.

“Something about that scar…” you murmur, “Utterly breaks my heart.”

“I will return before you realize I have even left!” Kyojuro waves, halfway to the gate of his estate.

You scoff, arms crossed, propped against the main doorway.

As if he isn’t aware of how you wake every morning as he slips out of bed — even when you know he’s just going to train.

As if he isn’t aware of how you steal his haori (he finally commissioned a second flame haori after one too many times of frantically searching for it before a mission — only to find you curled up, teary eyed, with it), his socks, heck, his pants they don’t fit but they’re comfy, when he’s gone — they’re poor substitutes though for his warm, smoky scent.

As if he isn’t aware of how you rush through your own missions—fierce, desperate—to return to him — you’re careful, of course, to return in one piece (albeit usually scathed, but hey, scathed is better than missing whole parts).

“Bullshit, Kyojuro-san,” you hope you sound less breakable than you feel.

He halts, swivels, and is in front of you in a heartbeat, “[y/n]-san,” he chides gently, “I expect to encounter, at most, a lower Moon. And I believe other corps members will be sent to assist in me. Do you not trust me?”

“Yeah, but- But Kyojuro-san, I’m…” you swallow, “I’m afraid for you. For us.”

“As am I for you, and for us,” Kyojuro cups your face, the roughness of his grasp revealing his mutual discontent at the thought of leaving you, “I am a Hashira. You are a Hashira. I trust you with my life.”

You’re frozen, the tautness of your entire body the only thing controlling your tears.

“I must go on this mission,” his lips linger on your forehead.

You whimper, readjusting the collar of his gakuran to distract yourself from your now falling tears, “No,” you collect yourself, lips brushing the corner of his mouth, “You must return to me from this mission.”

With a tormented groan, Kyojuro tilts your chin upward. His kiss is… heartbreaking. They always are. Fleeting, in tucked away alleys. Languid, under sultry, foreign ceilings. Dangerously, intoxicatingly, intimate within the seclusion of his estate. You insist on the anonymity of your… partnership. As a Hashira, shouldn’t your romantic desire pale in comparison to your duty? As a Hashira, couldn’t your romantic desire affect your ability to fulfill your duty? Perhaps Tengen would disagree, what with his three wives, but you can’t bring yourself to open up to that flashy man — can’t bring yourself to seek advice Uzui-san, how exactly do you handle the void of inevitable demise? Three times over, at that.

“Would you like me to hold you?”

You gape.

“Pardon, Kyojuro?”

He’s resolute, ears the faintest tint of pink, “Would you like me to hold you, [y/n]? You’re trembling,” he reaches out a tentative thumb, swiping your cheek, “And crying.”

A mortified sliver of you wants to vehemently deny him. Duh I’m trembling — it’s freezing! But most of you? Most of you wants to sink into his concern, unable to shrug the gravity of his offer.

You’re at the beach, towels scrunched beneath your feet, crisp air tangling coldly around you. You’re in a swimsuit, sweatpants, shirt, sweatshirt, and jacket; Kyojuro had been similarly dressed, but currently stood stripped to his swim trunks. The lull and chill of winter break had inspired you to invite Kyojuro, whom you’d met and befriended and liked waaay beyond the definition of platonic the previous semester, to partake in the Polar Plunge. He’d swung by your apartment last night with poke bowls and decaf lattes—“I would be honored to do the Polar Plunge with you! If this is not too forward of me, could we hang out beforehand and conduct some research? I would like to better understand its significance and spend more time with you because I miss you, I miss you, I miss you.”—you’d researched the Special Olympics, agreed on and made a joint donation, and gradually segued into Netflix browsing… into Netflix watching… into falling asleep on either ends of your couch, legs sprawled and overlapping.

“I could put my shirt on?”

Ugh. What a gentleman. The shirt stays off.

“Idon’tmind,” you squeak, staring at his sandy toes. The hell did I just say?! Fuck. My. Liiife.

Hesitantly, you step from your towel onto his, eyes glued to the sand between his toes. Even his toe hairs are adorable?! They’re scraggly, and as blonde as the hair on his head (regrettably, they lack the fiery tips that had first sparked your interest in him).

“[y/n],” he’s amused. “If you do not look up, then you are going to bump into me.”

With an Umpf, you stumble into him, eyes squeezed shut. Immediately, he pulls you in, hands reassuringly steady — as though he knew you’d be too timid to follow your desire.

“[y/n],” he rubs your sides, callouses catching slightly on the texture of your jacket, “You know, it does not hurt,” he’s panicking inwardly, alarmed by the intensity of your sobs—Is this good because they feel safe enough to be vulnerable with me, or is this bad because I am causing them to cry harder? “I swear. I am okay. This scar is not from this life.”

Kyojuro knows with melancholy certainty I cannot return to you from this mission. His assumption was, initially, correct. Agatsuma-kun, Hashibira-kun, and Kamado-kun had proven themselves worthy assistants, allowing him to save every precious life on the train — the lower Moon decapitated. Akaza, unfortunately, he had not anticipated.

“If you are feeling disheartened, that you are somehow not enough, set your heart ablaze. Dry your eyes and look ahead. You may feel like digging your heels in, but the flow of time waits for no one. It won’t patiently stand by as you grieve. Don’t feel bad that I’m going to die. As a Hashira, it’s natural that I’d protect you all.”

He knows the cycle of his life will eventually renew. Everyone knows reincarnation is inevitable. It’s a gut feeling — like knowing you’re about to die, but instead, knowing you have already lived. Everyone also knows, however, that although life itself cycles infinitely — memories from those lives never do.

As Kamado-kun’s grief streams from his eyes, Kyojuro knows—in his gut—that the young man before him will prevail in this life. And then he thinks of you. Of your determined hands, of your graceful anger, of your infectious laughter. I forgot to tell them I love them. But he’s slipping, slipping, slipping. Slipping out of bed — fearful of disturbing your slumber. Slipping out of his haori, his socks, his pants — which he knows will find their way to you. Slipping out of your fierce, desperate embrace — sometimes bloodied, sometimes battered, but intact, solid, home. He smiles at the thought of loving you — smiles in gratitude that he got the chance to. And then he slips… Mother?

“Are you sure?” you gulp, fingers nervously tracing the shiny, distorted scar again and again and again.

“I am sure,” he chuckles fondly.

“This probably killed you,” your stomach pangs.

“Probably,” he feels oddly cheerful, “And it is probably why I am here with you, in this life.”

A long second passes, your fingers continuing their motion as Kyojuro’s hands settle on your hips.

“I don’t feel up to the Polar Plunge anymore,” you mutter.

Kyojuro snorts endearingly, “Me neither! We did the most important bit anyway!”

“Round two of poke bowls? On me?” you mumble.

“Hm, [y/n]?” he’s teasing you. You pout.

“Please go on a date with me. I’m willing to buy us poke bowls.”

He laughs outright, exuberant and delighted, “Well you said please, so how could I refuse? And poke bowls? Twice in 24 hours? Delicious!”

He reluctantly moves to put his layers back on, scar twinging at the loss of your fingers.

You know before the crow even arrives. You’d woken earlier with a knot in your heart, physically struggling to breath. I’m a Hashira for fuck’s sake, so why. Can’t. I. Breathe? A nagging thought surfaced — one you’d promptly shoved into the furthest recess of your being. You’d eaten a simple breakfast of rice and seaweed flakes. Started laundry. Practiced your forms, clothes swaying damply behind you. Almost failed to notice the crow. Almost.

“CAW, CAW.”

You go inside.

Not even bothering to listen to the truth.

You feel it encroaching on the edges of your soul.

Feel it squelching in your gut.

Gnawing at your bright, glistening eyes.

KyojuroKyojuroKyojuro

“Kyojuro-san,” you speak.

To no one in particular.

To no one.

At.

All.

If he was returning to you, then there wouldn’t be a crow.

If he was returning to you, then you wouldn’t be gasping.

Squatting to the floor.

Fingers bruising your shins.

I’m a Hashira.

I could bend metal with these hands.

I’m a Hashira.

I’ve defeated a lower Moon.

Countless demons.

Strong.

Strong, strong, strong.

I’m.

So. Fucking. WEAK.

I’m a Hashira.

I could, I have, I would.

But you can’t tell him you love him.

Tengen is the kindness who guides you from your numbness.

“[y/n]-san. I’m glad I found you.”

He doesn’t question why you’re occupying Rengoku-san’s estate.

Doesn’t have to.

A single meeting of the Hashira, a single observation of the invisible, tender thread between you and Rengoku-san, and he’d known.

Had known for a while.

“Rengoku-san loved you,” he kneels beside you.

“Uzui-san.”

“Rengoku-san knew you loved him.”

“Uzui-san,” you wail, jolting, iron fingers latching to Tengen’s golden arm rings, “I love him.”

He pats your head.

Waits.

Waits as your love pours.

Spills.

Cascades.

Empties.

From your broken heart.

You’re on your couch, poke bowls in your laps, a random documentary playing. Between every bite, you glance at Kyojuro. Mesmerized. Enamored. This beautiful man’s really, officially on a date with me?! Really eating on my couch? Really blushing every time our eyes meet? Really feels how I feel ??

“What is troubling you?” Kyojuro places a shy palm on your knee.

You melt into his gesture, touching your nose to his bicep, “Nothing, actually. I feel… quite peaceful.”

His bicep flexes as he marvels at your cuteness. You could caress me constantly, and still I would hunger for your touch.

“You must know how I feel?” he’s soft — so soft.

“How do you feel, Kyojuro?” you’re giddy — so giddy.

“I feel in love with you.”

A noise escapes you. Kyojuro smiles. Leans toward you.

“I feel that I would like to kiss you,” he whispers.

“I feel that you could go for it,” your eyes close.

“You would not reject me?” he’s unbearably sweet.

“I wouldn’t.”

His lips are quiet, promising, perfect.

“I could get used to this,” you sigh into his mouth.

He grins, kiss deepening, poke bowls wobbling precariously.

“Good,” he grasps your jaw, lips sliding to its sensitive underside.

“Kyojuro,” you’re breathless.

“Hm?” he hums pleasantly, vibrations tickling your neck.

“I feel in love with you.”

He stalls, serious for a moment, an overwhelming sensation of This is right spreading from his heart through his blood to his quivering fingers.

“I know.”

#kyojuro rengoku #rengoku kyojuro #kyojuro x reader #rengoku x reader #flame hashira #one shot #college au #kimetsu no yaiba #demon slayer

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ricochetoconnell · 2 years

Note

For the canon+muse POV game, Rick looking after Evie at Hamunaptra, post-Medjai attack/Ardeth Bey's warning.

Leave this place or die.

The warning echoed ominously in Rick's mind as he plucked the fuse from the dynamite fizzing in his hand and watched the dark-robed figures dissolve into the night. As if Hamunaptra hadn't been full of enough bad omens to start with. At least Rick knew how to deal with human attackers on horse-back; It was whatever else was under these sands that made him so uneasy.

He turned to survey the damage -- to count how many more lives this damned place had claimed -- and his heart thudded to a painful stop in his chest.

"Evelyn!" Her name was past his lips before he realized, panic constricting his throat as he saw her small frame splayed in the sand. No, no, no. I told her to wait there, dammit.

He was already stumbling to her side when her foot twitched and she began to move, and his knees nearly went weak with relief that she was alive.

“Hey,” he said lowly when he saw wide, green eyes starring up at him. He snatched the gun from her hands and discarded it before reaching down to gently haul her upwards, inspecting her for any signs of injury. “Are you alright?”

She felt so delicate under his large, battle-roughened palms, and he cursed himself for having left her side. He was supposed to be protecting her, and he was beginning to suspect -- had suspected since she’d waltzed into Cairo prison like she owned the place, really -- that Evelyn Carnahan wasn’t the type to stay put when someone told her to.

She looked a little dazed, but otherwise unharmed, and her jaw was set in a resolute line as she answered him. "Yes, I'm fine."

"You sure?" He asked, to calm the dread that had settled into his gut at the sight of her laying there. He clasped her chin gently and tilted her head, still searching for any sign that she had been hurt. His gaze was met with nothing but unmarred skin, so soft he couldn't keep his fingers from exploring -- tracing the line of her jaw, grazing her cheek, fluttering against the elegant length of her neck.

“Thank you," she said, and it was her eyes that finally settled him. As soft and delicate as she might feel under his hands, those eyes were as sharp and determined as ever, dancing bright in the firelight.

For a moment he was lost in those liquid depths and the warmth he found there, in the fact that she didn’t pull away from, in the way her body leaned into his -- the way she fit against him.

And then Daniels’ voice was breaking the spell, sounding triumphant despite the losses they had just suffered. "See, that proves it! Old Seti's fortune's gotta be under this sand."

"For them to protect it like this, you just know there's treasure down there,” Henderson chimed in, but Rick was already shaking his head.

"No, these men are a desert people. They value water, not gold." Rick had spent enough time in the desert to know where priorities usually lay. He didn’t know who this mysterious group was -- he was fairly sure they weren’t Bedouin or Tuareg -- but nothing about them, three years ago or now, made him think they were interested in treasure.

But then, it was hard to think about anything with Evelyn's fingers tracing lines against his chest, warm even though the material of his shirt.

Her touch was so distracting Rick didn't even notice Burns come up beside him until the man was speaking, sounding noticably more shaken than his more gold-minded brethren. "Ya know, maybe just at night we could combine forces, hm?"

It wasn't the worst idea Rick had heard, especially since their group was considerably smaller. He had just turned his head to agree when he felt Evelyn pulling away. He let her go--despite the urge to pull her closer, to keep her there and safe with him--and turned to see her rushing towards Jonathan as he stumbled out from behind a collapsed column, pistol in one hand and Glenlivet in the other.

As he watched her corrall her already half-drunk brother back to their camp, her voice equal parts relieved and scolding, Rick made a decision; If Evelyn Carnahan wasn't the type to stay put, he was just going to have to stay by her side.

#sorry for the wait #as always #writing around scenes is surprisingly difficult!#but I do love this scene so much #fanfic #the mummy #rick o'connell #evelyn carnahan #rick/evy

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alexaplaysgames · 3 years

Note

Can you do Felix and Mc getting into a fight

My angst brain need some

You got it bb <3 Idk if this is really that much of a fight, but I couldn't make the MC too mean to Felix. Also, I’m aware this paints baby in a bad light. I had to make them fight about something okay :’( I don’t think he’d do this in canon.

Title: A bit Bitter

Pairing: Felix Escellun x GN!MC (Last Legacy)

Words: 2564

Tags: @demon-paradise @themohawkhelmet @cactus-hoodie @aomiyeon @piningmaybeanartist @another-confused-gay @uselessbeanies @nomnomcupcakesworld @druwuuwu @frozen-daydream @kirakiratears @margitartist @crowtrinkets @fanfic-about-fictif Please let me know if you would like to be added or removed.

“Tell me the truth, Felix.”

His gray eyes dart upwards from his textbooks as I storm into the room. When he sees what I hold clutched in my hands, he swallows, the bob of his throat visible even from the doorway.

I continue in a voice that is simultaneously weak and as strong as I can manage. “Is this really how you feel?”

“W-why do you have that, love?”

I frown. His nervousness sends guilt shooting through me, but I stamp it out. I’ve bent over backwards for months in an attempt to make him comfortable, and did so gladly. But this? I can only withstand so much.

I set the notebook down on the edge of his desk with a heavy thud. Felix winces.

“The things you wrote in here, about me…” I shake my head, then look away. I can feel my eyes sting, and I bite my tongue to hold back from crying. “Felix-“

“That’s private! You don’t have the right to go snooping through my possessions.”

I sigh. Yeah, I’m nosy and read his journal, and normally I would be ashamed. I shouldn’t have done it, but… “I don’t think that’s important right now.”

“Of course it’s important!” Felix gasps, standing out of his desk chair to snatch up the journal. He meets my eyes with a fragile sort of vulnerability, then pulls the journal defensively to his chest. “I’m not privy to every thought you have. You can’t judge me for mine.”

“I would never think these things of you!” My voice raises until it edges on a shout, and I frantically rush to reign it in. “I would never.”

“That’s not-“ Felix whispers with a shake of his head. “That’s not fair.”

“No. What��s not fair is this.” I reach forward and pull the leather journal from his hands, flipping forward a few weathered pages until I find what I’m looking for.

“‘Not nearly comparable to Rime’s beauty, nor do they possess his talent with magic. They’re candlelight to his radiant sun. I’ve quelled whatever feeling has stirred in my chest and decided that I won’t settle for them. Not while my love is still hurting. And I do miss him so.”

Felix is biting at his lip as I lower the book once more, his eyes watery, wide circles. “That’s old,” he chokes out. “I swear. I don’t feel that way. I love you.”

He looks like he wants to touch me, so I step away. I shake my head. “But you did feel that way.”

“I- why does it matter? That’s private. How- how much else have you read to convince yourself my feelings for you are disingenuous? You were never meant to see any of it.” He’s wrapped arms around his thin frame, now, squeezing his eyes shut as if he wishes this all would simply go away.

“I’ve read enough.”

Felix’s eyes go wide, then dart to the journal in my hand. “Why?” I ask. “Worried there’s something worse left for me to uncover?”

“N-no.” He runs his hand over his face. “Why couldn’t you stay out of my things? That was personal! It was none of your business!” Felix hisses the last words, as close to angry as I’ve ever seen him with me. His eyes are filled with tears, but his expression if one of a rage I’ve never been in the receiving end of.

“Fuck you,” I spit out, watching him hiccup as if the words were a physical blow. “You’re a liar, Felix.” Then I simply can’t help myself but to add, “Maybe you do deserve to be alone.”

I know as soon as I say it that I’ve gone too far, and the look on his face- fuck. I don’t know if I’ll ever get the broken, hurt expression that flashes across his features out of my head. Yes, the words he’d written in that journal had stung, but I don’t feel any satisfaction from hurting him just as badly. If anything, it makes me feel worse.

All I feel is lost. My psyche weighs heavy with guilt, as well as hatred for myself for letting my patience slip. Before it can all come crumbling down on me, I turn on my heel and rush out the door, slamming it behind me with an echo that rings much to hollow to make me feel any better.

✦✧✦✧

I had frantically stuffed my few belongings into a bag and rushed to the nearest inn, flopping onto a rickety bed and crying myself to exhaustion. That had been two days ago, now, and I haven’t spoken to Felix since.

On the bright side, sending drunk texts is much more difficult to do when one doesn’t possess a cellphone.

Each night my dreams are filled with memories of his face, his smile. I can feel him in my arms, see the distinct colour of his blush each time I call him “baby” or “my sweet”. I wonder if I was over-dramatic in my reaction, but then remember the words in that journal. To think, the passage I had read aloud had only been one of many.

No. I was right to be upset.

I keep wondering if maybe the things he wrote in there were true. Yet, it’s so confusing- Felix has always had the upmost respect for me. And he’s not exactly great at hiding his emotions.

I’ve met with Anisa and Sage, both of whom seemed relatively stunned at the news. Anisa had offered exercise as a way to take my mind off it, and Sage had offered… another form of physical activity altogether, which didn’t really surprise me.

“A fight? Really? You two have always seemed like such a sappy married couple…”

I sigh. “Thanks, Sage. Really. It wasn’t even a fight, to be honest.”

“Married couples do fight, Sage.” Anisa pats my hand. “Felix is just dramatic. It will be fine! Whatever he did, I’m sure he didn’t mean it. He just gets a little… jumbled up sometimes. But his intentions are pure. At least, I believe so. You can never tell with Felix.” She smiles. “Give him some time to mope and he’ll apologize.”

“If it helps,” Sage interjects, “he fought all the time with deer boy, and they were apparently a thing. I’m sure he’s used to it.”

I refrain from telling Sage that his oh-so-helpful comment is far from helpful; in fact, it highlights exactly what I’m worried about.

Tonight, thunder strikes outside in heavy, booming claps. The room I’ve rented is lowly lit by a single candle, but the flashes of lightning outside the window often light up the entire space. Rain pelts the roof and the wind howls mournfully, as if in empathy of my crushed spirit.

I’m just in the middle of pretending I’m in a sad music video when I hear an unsteady knock at the door. At first, I think it might be a tree branch outside, being as it’s so soft, but then I hear the sound again.

I fling the wool blankets over my head with a huff and shuffle towards the door, then unceremoniously fling it open.

I should have expected it would be my necromancer boyfriend looking like a drenched cat.

Felix is sopping wet, his hair plastered to his forehead and clothes so soaked I can see his tanned skin underneath. As soon as the door opens, his eyes go wide, and he immediately looks as if he’s attempting to say something, but he can’t seem to spit it out. His teeth are chattering so forcefully he can’t speak, and the wind has whipped the wet strands of hair into his mouth.

He is so stupid. I immediately can’t help but think that I love him. I am definitely morosexual.

I blink dazedly at him for a moment, before grabbing his elbows and hastily pulling him inside.

“I’m s-sorry,” he sobs as I grab a blanket off the bed and hastily wrap it around his shoulders. I can’t tell if he’s shaking from crying or the cold, can’t tell if the wetness on his face is from his tears or the rain. “I’m so sorry.”

“Felix, it’s fine. Come here, you’re going to get hypothermia.”

I grab a towel from the bathroom and begin using it to dry his hair. He shakes his head as he pushes it away, sending droplets of water flying. “No! Listen, please, I am sorry, I am. I wish to explain myself. You deserve that much, at least.”

I sigh, then stand back and nod. I sit down on the edge of the bed. The mattress groans, as do I. “Fine.”

Felix pauses as if he didn’t expect that answer.

Then he picks at the frayed strings of the blanket around him. He shivers as he tugs it tighter around his shoulders. He licks his lips. “I wasn’t in a good place when we met.”

I nod. It was obvious then, and it’s even more so now. “I know.”

“It wasn’t healthy. I know that it wasn’t, but-” he cuts off as the thunder outside rumbles, lightning illuminating the haunted look in his eyes. “I loved Rime. More than that, I obsessed over him.”

That much I had guessed, but the confirmation does still twist my stomach.

“I was still in love with him when we met. Desperately so. I clung to the very idea of him for years. Rime adored how I idolized him, he encouraged it-“ he looks out the window as if lost in thought, then sighs. “It wasn’t you. I would’ve compared anyone to him. I did.”

Felix sniffs, then delicately kneels at my feet. “I am so sorry. I promise I didn’t truly think those things, my dear. I just felt so guilty, every time I felt anything for you. I had made myself think that he was perfect, that I could enforce my love for him through some strange sort of self-discipline.” He cringes, as if he knows how awful that sounds. “It seemed reasonable. I owed him my life.”

Apparently having said what he needed, Felix goes quiet. His eyes are red-rimmed, dark circles underneath, as if he’s been crying instead of sleeping ever since I left him.

“You are so incredibly lovely,” he whispers, choking. “I could see it even then. I was scared of what it would do to me to admit it.”

I swallow. I’m honestly not sure whether to believe him, but the look in his eyes is so earnest. Felix is many things, but he’s not one to hide his feelings, nor is he a good actor. I know deep down that he’s not faking his love for me, despite how my heart convinced me otherwise.

“If- If you’re still angry with me, I understand,” Felix stammers, though the tears in his eyes make it seem like that isn’t true. “M-maybe I should leave-“

The rain pounds harder against the windows. The wind whistles through the surrounding cracks. I grab his wrist.

“Come here, my sweet.”

Felix’s eyes widen at my use of my pet name for him, a timid look of disbelief in his eyes as he takes my hand and allows me to pull him onto the bed. I lie down on my back and guide to lay against my chest.

“I forgive you.” I almost can’t believe the words myself, but I know that it’s the only option I could ever consider. I love him. It’s a simple as it is complex.

“You needn’t-“

“I do. It wasn’t right of you to say those things, but it was also unfair of me to get so angry with you over something you wrote a long time ago. I know your old relationship really took a toll on you. Besides, I said some awful things to you too, Felix,” I continue, reaching up to brush his bangs back from his forehead. He trembles, leaning slightly into my touch. “You don’t deserve to be alone. I wanted to hurt you like you hurt me, and I shouldn’t have. Okay?” I wait until he finally nods to continue. “And I’m sorry for going through your things. I betrayed your trust, and you were right to be upset.”

Felix goes a little slack-jawed before he finally breathes out, “O-of course I forgive you.”

“I’m glad, because I don’t think I could live without you.”

He stares at me for a moment longer before he lurches forward and kisses me, desperate and wanting, full to the brim with both apology and forgiveness. It tastes if the salt of his tears and the cold rainwater that runs over his cheeks. He’s shaking the whole time, and I tug him tighter to my chest. I can feel his heart racing through the fabric of our clothes.

“I love you, sweet.”

“I love you too,” Felix hiccups, “so much.”

We spend a bit longer like that, tangled up in the bedsheets with Felix soaking through both our clothes. Eventually, I pull back.

“Did you really wait until it was storming to show up and apologize?”

A sheepish laugh as he flushes. “I had t-thought it would be romantic. Like in my novels. I didn’t realize it was pouring quite so hard.”

His cheeks are a flaming red and he looks away like he expects me to be upset. I sigh to hide my fond smile. All I can do is kiss him again.

“I’ve brought you something,” Felix murmurs, his lips so close to mine that they brush, his eyelashes wet against my cheeks. He reaches back and takes the leather notebook, the stupid source of all our fighting, out of his coat pocket. It’s surprisingly dry.

I can’t help but want to smack that stupid book out of his hand. “Felix, why would you do that?”

He rolls his eyes, then gets up and stands off to the side of the bed. The room lights up green as his entire hand, the journal with it, are suddenly engulfed in flames, until nothing but ashes sift through his fingertips, drifting down to settle against the wooden floor.

“You’re my future.”

He’s so dramatic. I love him to pieces.

I grab his waist and all but tackle him back onto the bed, delighting in his surprised squeak.

“Stop!” Felix yelps as he falls back against the mattress, only to be assaulted by my cuddles, “I’m positively soaked; I’ll drench the sheets.”

I can’t really say that I care. We have a lot of making up to do; I’m not spending a second without him by my side for the rest of the night. Felix grumbles a final complaint and then sighs. He wraps his arms around me and presses his cheek into my chest, and I can’t help but think he feels the same.

“I didn’t enjoy that,” he mumbles, turning his face into me to hide his expression. “Being apart from you, it- hurt. I missed you.”

“I missed you too, baby.” I’m just realizing how much. His scent and the feel of his hair against my skin, his voice. He’s invaded my senses once more, and it feels like coming back to life.

He turns to look up at me. His cheeks are rosy and his hair mussed, droplets of water clinging to his eyelashes and temples. God, he’s so adorable- I don’t know how I could ever stand to be angry with him. “I don’t want to be at odds with you anymore. I love you too much.”

I boop his perfect nose. “Deal.”

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